Hundred Leaf Blossom
by Nasu Hasami
Summary: Inspired by Chazza-Fan's 100 Theme Challenge for Mulan. Hundred Leaf Blossom will attempt to cover all themes with light-hearted, humorous, hapless adventures in a variety of styles and formats. Enjoy or ignore, really, it's up to you.
1. I: Ni Hao Zaijian

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & Chang Lieng Bui**

**I (Introduction): Ni Hao Zaijian**

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_AN: It's called continuity, and it's when I have to learn to dance throughout the scene._

_All of the original Blossoms have been lost. The copies I have are online or handwritten and/or printed excerpts. I have taken those and attempted to lengthen them in the hope of completing this. The original writing was saved onto USBs which were both faulty, one of which actually caught on fire. The loss of the writing isn't really a loss. The story can be rewritten to a higher standard and a better quality. I just need to trust in my ability and my love for this._

_As always, thank you for reading. Thank you for following or marking this as a favourite. Thank you for your patience, and thank your comments and support._

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Sleeves brush against each other in the stillness of a shy embrace. Hands shadow, whisper and trace each other, curves, contours, angles, lines: memorising and learning. The shimmering moonlight as their only witness, wide and white and swimming against silken hues: steadfast in blue, dancing in black. It was calming and beautiful and bright: a sky she knew, glistening in a lake she knew, in a home she loved, in a place she belonged.

No unknown mountains. No foreign hills or valleys or rivers or fields. No new and strange things, hiding and lurking in shadows.

Except, maybe, there was something new.

He was stilted and stoic, sombre and sincere and shy. Stiff and unsure, though he knew her and he knew this. Cold as the cold stone bench he sat upon; shivering despite the sweet spring air, despite the warmth and new familiarity. Shivering despite her good humour and generous smiles; shivering despite her kindness and quiet affection. Stiff and thoughtful despite their acquaintance, despite who she was and all that had passed between them.

This was new: this warmth and want and need to linger in this moment under the moonlight, by his side and in presence; this desire to trust in the moments between now and yesterday and forever and all the fervent prayers that would fill yesterday and swallow tomorrow and pray – pray that it lasted longer than now – longer than one moment, longer than this. This wish to stay here, beyond self and thought and time. They'd walked through this war side by side. They'd fought this war side by side. Despite her gender and despite her deception, he was here, tonight, by her side, his eyes lost on the water and in the sky. A smile occasionally lost on her; occasionally lost on Mulan.

Not a boy or a girl in her father's clothes. Not a fraud or a fiend, but a friend and a comrade.

Not a man, but a woman.

Maybe, maybe she was a woman. Dressed and sheathed in silken brocade smiling coyly she drew the lines of a woman, curling her laughter around his words, thrilling and delighting him as any courtier would. Ebony locks brushing her shoulders and dancing in the wind. Perfume sultry and exotic: intriguing and intoxicating him, confusing and pleasing him. A smile that lit her eyes and bared her teeth; a grin too familiar and much too strange drawn across such a delicate face. A laugh that delighted him and a voice that charmed him, and in turn, made him smile and laugh.

Yes, she was a woman, but she was so many other things too.

She was his friend, and a fellow soldier. She was a warrior in her own right – maybe her father's blood revelled a little there – but it was her hands that fell the Hun army, and it was her hands that saved China: a woman's hands. Mulan's hands.

Mulan.

The name still felt strange on his lips, and the memories blended with what he thought he'd known, what he knew and trusted.

He thought he had known those hands when they were a man's hands. They felt different wrapped inside his hands now, lightly brushing in farewell. They looked different, fingering invisible lines across his bridle and saddle, mussing and stroking his horse's mane. Touching things that weren't there, knowing things in that subtle way that revealed she knew him. He had traced those same invisible lines a thousand times. Silence filled the space between them, and that silence was filled with small gestures and light smiles. This was all very unusual and strange, standing in the moonlight, unchaperoned, and talking to a woman.

It was all very, very strange.

'I'm not any different than how I was two days ago.' She smiled, looking up at him through hooded eyes. Ping's grin was spread across her mouth. Her nervousness barely disguised by the fingers knotting themselves in her hair.

'It's the dress, I suppose,' he mumbled, very inelegantly; his voice half caught in a laugh.

The image was too strange. Ping in a dress, acting lasciviously.

She giggled, leaning against the horse and nuzzling it. 'It's not because I'm a girl?'

'I wouldn't say you were a girl.'

'It's not because I'm a woman.' She was grinning and looking up at him again, catching and arresting him with her eyes the way she did. There was something about her and her eyes. Something different about her when she wasn't Ping, even though Ping had shared those eyes, something that had never shined up at him from a boy's eyes.

'You're not any different either, Shang.'

But he was, and she shouldn't be calling him by name. It was too soon and they were standing on unknown ground. He was just a man from the Capital and she was just a woman from a village.

Apprehension had affected him since his arrival with this woman from the village. A smattering of sentences twisted together, some mumbling about a helmet, and an awkward grin. He had tried in vain to ease the tension, yet it lingered, thick and coarse between them. The memory was too fresh and the days too new. He had been a moment from her execution and she had been wanton in seeking her death in the Capital, instead, she had saved them all.

She had been pardoned, and he had run after her as fast as his horse could carry him. In that moment, he wasn't so sure where the soldier finished and the man began. Was it the soldier's instincts that had carried him to her, or a man's?

Then there was dinner, and the mess that had been.

They hadn't spoken much. He had been overawed in her father's presence and she was continually silenced by her mother. Mulan wasn't entitled to join the conversation between two military men, regardless of her own military prowess. And his plans seemed futile, though he wasn't certain, not entirely, what his plans were beyond returning her helmet. He had been expecting a woman, but not so much of a woman that he stood stunned and afraid. He had been expecting a soldier a little too. Yet, this strange culmination that stood beside him rattled him beyond reason. She wasn't shy or delicate or quiet. She giggled and chortled and hacked out laughter as though it pained her to keep it in. Mischief shone and reigned, glistening in her smile and in her eyes. She was determined to see him off, despite this stilted silence and unsure friendship.

'I can go inside and put some pants on if that will make you more comfortable. Or punch something. _Kill_ something…cook _something _outdoors.'

'No. It's fine. You're fine.'

'Still, you won't look at me.'

With that he turned, returning the smile with his own lopsided smirk. She was very pretty, blushing and scratching her neck as she looked up at him, the expression on her face somewhere between amused and unsure.

He didn't want to say goodbye to her, not like this, not yet.

And she didn't want to say goodbye to him, not after everything they'd seen.

Shang's smirk fell a little as he bowed to her, taking her hand in his. His lips danced across her skin lightly, whispering softly against the lines his fingers had traced.

'We've never been introduced properly. It's an honour to know you, Fa Mulan.'

She met his bow, though with somewhat less grace and a giggle that echoed into the night.

'Ni hao, Li Shang.'


	2. II: Tryst

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**II (Conflicted): Tryst**

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She looked beautiful in the moonlight. She was beautiful: willowy, delicate and womanly; with a smile that should have been masked by a fluttering silk fan. Her dark eyes shimmered as they beheld the moonlight upon the still lake, flickering across the indigo surface. Her portrait belonged to a silk tapestry where artisans could capture her for all eternity. Dressed in her finery she belonged in Court where poets could serenade her and princes could flatter her. A chuckle that had belonged to Ping escaped her painted lips and the image should have been shattered; the smile that had belonged to the hapless recruit broadened her mouth and he could see her teeth, grinning and giggling. Still, even with Ping's shadow passing her features his heart swelled with some terrifying pulse. Shang pulled her into his arms abruptly then let her away as swiftly as if the moment had never occurred. He wanted to hold her, to caress her…to kiss her. Honour however did not allow such indulgences.


	3. III: The Prodigal Son Returns

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**III (Making History): The Prodigal Son Returns**

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Corrections made for Anonymous Reviewer #2, who noted a point of contention that I too share.

'Fu qin' Pinyin for 'Father'. Pinyin is however of no significance to anything.

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'The youngest General in the history of China,' his sister sang, twirling a length of her silken locks delicately. 'No…The Greatest Captain in China's history!' Her smile was so fragile, so proud as she tucked her legs neatly under herself and poured Shang a cup of tea. Meixiang sipped her tea in such a coquettish manner, not entirely dissimilar to the way Ping had sipped his tea, and that thought, though fleeting, brought a handsome smile to Li Shang's face.

'Are you thinking of Mulan,' Meixiang asked quietly, curious glances flitting over her raised cup. Her brother blushed, briefly choking on his tea. 'She is the first woman you've chosen to court, no? I don't recall others from before the…before the war.' She laughed lightly to herself; a lithe giggle with its own bewitching qualities. Yet the siblings knew the pain that their joy was masking.

'Fa Mulan: the first woman to silence the great Li Shang!'

His thoughts whirled a moment, ensnaring him in the rapturous smile of the newly commissioned Captain, her arms tightly wrapped around him.

'Fu qin would have said she was shameless, embracing you as she did; kissing you before so many people, even if it was only the slightest flutter of her lips against your cheek. A butterfly only flutter's against us for a second but it is still called a kiss; she kissed you Li Shang…directly before half of China!'

But it was not the memory of the fleeting whisper against his cheek that had deepened the blush on the General's face: it was the passionate moment they had shared in secret, his mouth on hers, their hands in each other's hair. The clandestine moment when the world ceased to exist, her petite body held against his and their affections fixed upon each other. It was the first time in his twenty-two years that he had wanted for nothing – felt nothing – outside of their created euphoria.


	4. IV: Matchmakers

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**IV (Rivalry): Matchmakers**

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Li Shang had bowed politely to the old woman, curtly repeating her name and birthdate. He was met with a set of annoyed eyes and a scowling mouth.

'You are not the only one chasing Madam Fa,' she reiterated, viciously flicking her fan out and shaking it. 'I shall consult with the almanacs and the astrologer and you'll have my response General Li.'

He had been about to take his leave when she turned on him with a grim expression. 'Heed my warning when I say the Bride price will be the highest China has ever seen, so I suggest if you lack the finances for such a wife than I would seek another.' He bowed in thanks and exited the small villa, a coy smile playing on his lips.

'What did you need to see that old witch about?' Mulan grimaced, tugging Khan's reins and whirling around to fall beside Shang and Bai.

'A family matter,' he responded, intoning that he was not to be persuaded for anything more. Their relationship was far from ordinary but he was not going to completely forgo tradition.

'Did I ever tell you I set her on fire once?'

'The Matchmaker – so you'd had practice for Shan-Yu?'

Ping's grin spread across her face. 'Well…I hadn't intended to set her alight; she'd caused me to lose my dignity so by the time Shan-Yu happened I didn't really have anything left to lose. I'd already shamed myself and brought dishonour on my family…I didn't think I'd ever see my parents again.'

'Now you're China's Heroine.' Though his tone was light it did waver a little. Shang never enjoyed listening to her talk of the Pass: if the slice of the Hun's sword had been aimed better than her fate would have been different and her sword would've been forced into the snow by his father's. No one would have ever known she was a woman. He glanced towards her, intending to reach for her hand, but the hapless recruit's smile was still on her face.

'I'll race you to the river!'

Mulan had already cantered off as he charged Bai after her. The Matchmaker's words had held more truth than she'd known; chasing after Mulan had become a regular occurrence with his sporadic visits to her home. Shang didn't care for the cost of Bride price – he' pay it – however high to call her his. He'd gladly go to war for her and that would fault many of her suitors.

If all else failed, he'd invite her in with him the next time he visited the Matchmaker and kiss her openly before the witch. A kiss much like the ones he stole when he won these races – not that he minded if Mulan won – the prize was undoubtedly the same.


	5. V: The Nine Changes

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**V (Unbreakable): The Nine Changes**

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Kudos to Dracohellyes

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Her troops loved her. With that, there was no question. She had entered the fray on dangerous grounds, with a tired battalion and few rations remaining. She'd ordered the attack and they obeyed without question. As evening pressed they never grew tired or rested for a moment: there was too much at stake; too much for them to gain if they could succeed.

At midnight their flags were raised in place of where the enemies had stood; shouts of praise to their beloved Captain Fa filling the night air.

Shang's company had skirmished too early, compromising their vanguard. Though their leader was strong, and his men always heeded his orders, General Li had never been one to adapt; he fought with an unchanging strategy and that created vulnerability. When he had begun to accept that their legion was ill fated cannons were fired and chaos was resumed.

Mulan was still mounted upon Khan when she came into view, throwing herself down and shafting her horse. Confusion and calamity surrounded them. She fought between the arrows and cannon fire, stepping over the fallen and anticipating nothing. At first it seemed there was no sense in her movements at all, but then Shang began to see the rhythm, and fell in beside her.

Her orders were delivered liberally, leaving her men to decide the best course of action for them; formations could be adapted and developed within seconds; plans ignored or laid aside if there was a better approach. The Hun's precipitating commands were soon overwrought by the woman-soldier, and the battle was won.

As the sun rose what its orange rays revealed was a massacre and a travesty. In their exhaustion little more was thought of than recovery and statistics. The dead would be given proper rites, regardless of who they had fought for. Some of the living were asleep next to the corpses, fatigue catching them as their General had proclaimed China's victory. Few had pitched tents. Captain Fa had chosen to ride to the Capital and deliver the message of victory personally, even though such a task was below her station. One of the many reasons her men loved her.


	6. VI: Innocence Lost

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**VI (Obsession): Innocence Lost**

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Shameless Macbeth allusion

Dedicated to the Siol Alpin, Cuimhnich Bas Alpein

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The first time Li Shang ever witnessed weakness in Fa Mulan was the evening she threw herself at his feet.

After their victory she had ridden out and returned within days, not resting until the camp had received the Emperor's reply. She had disappeared an hour into training that day, her General, along with her men thought she was sleeping. Yet her tent was nothing more than a bundle of canvas and silk on the ground. Chein-Po found her by the creek, scrubbing at her hands with willow bark until they bled.

'I've killed a man,' she mumbled, fumbling for the blood stained bark when her soldier had taken it. A moment later she shook violently then vomited. 'I've killed a man,' she repeated, chanting softly to herself. Chein-Po remained by her until she collapsed on herself, fearing she may have thrown herself into the shallow stream. He carried her back to camp and handed her sleeping form to the anxious General.

Her uniform was in taters, her hands calloused, grated raw and swelling with infection. Mulan awoke as her commanding officer had laid her on the cot in his tent.

'I've killed a man!' She yelped, uncontrollably repeating the mantra as she clung to Shang's boots. She dragged herself along the covered floor, cleaving to him as he attempted to push her away.

'You need rest,' he whispered, reaching down to pry her hands away from him. Still she held to him, wailing as she threw herself before him.

'There'll be retribution, you must kill me Shang; you have to kill me!' Mania filled her eyes. She flittered around the quarters, her fingers seizing and convulsing as she stumbled about. 'You have to kill me,' she repeated after a moment's silence, stumbling towards Shang again and clutching the gold scabbard hanging at his side.

'Please kill me,' she pleaded.


	7. VII: Nirvana

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**VII (Eternity): Nirvana**

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Because of his rearing he didn't mention it. Because of his morals, and because of the men's morale, he'd let her rest until her insensibilities had passed. He'd ordered her tent to be raised and prepared; he'd fed her copious amounts of opium and sent her away, to recuperate. Shang himself had unsheathed the Changdao and placed it beside her bedroll. If she woke, and the guilt still weighed heavily on her, or if she simply couldn't see passed it, he told her the best thing she could do was bring it to an end. He showed her how to raise the blade, and told her to inhale as she drew the sword on herself.

Her feelings were in flux over the weeks that followed. She didn't eat much, sleeping her days away. She dreamed of sprouting wings and flying away. She dreamed of running through the mountains, the rhythmic thump of Khan's hooves walloping the ground as they cantered along. She dreamed she was a ribbon dancer, twirling like the women she'd seen in Chang'an: dancing before red caped soldiers, smiling from behind her fan, her sleeves billowing in the wind. The tambourines would sing, echoing throughout her mind like bells tied to leaves, whistling and swaying in the wind.

She became a voyeur in her dreams, watching the pageantry of Chang'an fade into the tilling of the hills of her ancestral village. Singer's voices would float from the fields, whirling their way through the land like rivers, ghosting across the grass and resonating into the skies. She'd hum to the bewitching tune, watching as the scenes before her changed; she'd swoop down on those gossamer wings of hers, perching for a better view.

A General with bronzed skin and sable eyes scanned the horizon, his hands mastering the reins of his stallion, his cape billowing in the wind as he gazed out at the sea. His head was bowed reverently to the wispy gathering of clouds hovering above the salty mists. A pair of ivory hands parted through the stormy depths, and the form of a woman with golden hair swirled into being. She leant over her cloud, resting herself against it as she gazed back at the handsome officer. 'Compose me a song,' the goddess commanded, her sultry voice swelling loudly. 'Write me a poem, and I shall grant whatever it is you ask,' the siren sung, her cloud crawling closer to the red-caped man.

'I cannot write you a song,' the man said in even tones, 'but the favour I was to ask you was not for myself…' his voice trailed off as he turned from the cloudlike creature. The instance his eyes were averted the woman was sucked inside the cloud, nothing but a low lying mist to testify her existence. Mulan felt the man's eyes flicker over her. He turned his horse and moved towards her perch. His arms reached for her and she was lifted from the tree.

Her head swam as sounds pulsated around her. The dream-visions were fading, flashing in and out: a tambourine crashed and the cloud spirit wailed as she was pulled into the sea and swallowed by the black and red nothingness. A ghoulish voice sang sweetly, rousing her; her wings lay in tatters on the grass at her feet. The General was still standing before her wordlessly.

'Are you awake,' a voice whispered, cool fingers softly brushing her crown.

Mulan heaved her eyelids open, her head lolled to the side, her eyes finding the campfire flickering in the distance. The snapping and crackling warmed her; they reminded her of the crickets in her dreams. Her throat felt dry as she fumbled to speak.

Shang moved beside her, holding a wineskin to her lips, tilting her head for her. 'Drink,' he ordered, shifting his weight beside her to support her better. 'We thought you'd left us,' he smiled, his eyes studying the sliver of evening sky sneaking through the tent flaps. 'Apparently it will take more than a man-made sword to take the woman-warrior!' The jubilant lilt in his voice shifted slightly.

'What do you remember?' He asked as his eyes trained on a star in the distance.

'The siege,' Mulan choked out, 'the ride to Chang'an…the Palace. There were dancers at the banquet, singers too; kites. I had wings.'

'I think you visited Eternity,' Shang said, pulling her a little closer.

Neither of them spoke as she held the wineskin to her lips again. Shang's arm tightened around her, and she vaguely felt something brush against her brow. 'Thank you for coming back,' he whispered, his eyes finally dropping to meet hers.


	8. VIII: Zao An, Wan An

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**VIII (Gateway): Zao An, Wan An**

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Danke Anonymous #2, Dracohellyes and Silverpearl2

May Buddha shine happy on your merry souls!

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Punching her hand to her fist, she bowed to him every morning when they passed. Smiling or laughing as they headed in their own directions, passing under the gateway together.

Neither would admit they each lingered in unseen places awaiting the other; both finding tasks and excuses waylaying them so their timing matched. Mulan would run by, swiftly saluting and bowing on the way to train her men. Shang would march towards the strategist's tent, waiting for the other Generals to join him. She'd smile at him, and his eyes would return the gesture. 'Zao An,' they would say to each other.

It made his days lighter, hearing her greeting, though it was brief. He'd never admit it to her, her pride didn't need feeding.

Then in the evenings, with torches lit, and the men feeling brave enough to face-off in hand-to-hand combat with the Generals they'd pass each other again. 'Wan An,' they'd say. Mulan slumped over, returning to her tent on the fortified encampment; Shang grinning, zealous to pulverise recruits.

She'd blush and share a slightly more bashful glance with him, exhausted and unguarded, 'Wan An,' she'd repeat, softly, as evocatively as she could. Shang would step closer than he should – than was proper – and caress her cheek, dipping and kissing her, for luck.

Mulan would allow him in those moments, under the stone, in its shadowed alcove, under the gateway.

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_Author's note_

_Mainly, I wanted to avoid the idea of a gateway as a portal, and that actually made this theme rather difficult. Initially I wrote this scene as taking place at a trading point (gateways were occasionally used as such). The trio were trying to trade Mulan for five suckling pigs and Shang caught them. It was meant to be a comedy but fell apart every time I tried, so instead, I wrote this._

_The pigs have been haunting me though, so maybe I will still write it; maybe I'll write two VIIIs._


	9. IX: Remembrance

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**IX (Death): Remembrance**

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Cheers to Bao Li Na, Booklover7643 and Guests(plural)

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He kneeled on the snow, the cold seeping through. His gauntleted hands numb to the ice, folded on the hilt of his sword. A hundred li from the encampment, further still from any of the scouting posts. Though there was no tablet, no incense and no paper-money to burn, he still prayed. He prayed for forgiveness, for safe passage. He prayed for the safekeeping of his loved ones: his mothers and his sisters. He prayed his youngest brothers wouldn't see the things he'd seen. He wanted more for them, he believed they deserved more than him. He prayed for all the things his father had taught him to.

He was a filial son.

He cried into the snow. Hunched over in the anarchic weather, spilling silent tears, wishing he and his men hadn't failed to reach the impasse; wishing he had been a better leader to his men. Wishing he had been a better son. Li Chen deserved more than piety, more than bravery and an honourable death on the field; he deserved to see his children married, and their children born. He deserved more.

Li Shang adored his father, and he missed him.

All his life what he had done had been to please and appease his father; most of what he'd done since his death was to uphold his honour and that of his family. He was the head of the Li estate now; he was the patriarch.

Partly, his tears were shame. He should have been the one to deliver China, not a woman. A woman that he'd seen laugh in the face of death; an ephemeral memory that always choked a laugh out of him. How women now ruled the world around him!

Mud sloshed near him. Snow squelched under foot. His dampened face turned in time to meet that of a heavily robed bandit, proffering him a saddle bag with a somewhat feminine hand. The thief was silent as she parted without the satchel, mounting her horse and mumbling an order under her bulky woven scarves. Stealing away into the snowdrift; slowing only to dismount and throw a rug over his disgruntled and neglected beast.

He prayed to his father again, kneeling and bowing. He laid out the plate from the saddlebag with the stowed away fruits and nuts upon it. He used the flint he always kept with him to light the incense sticks, the icy fragrance of jasmine surrounding him. He extracted the money and offered it to the gods for the refuge of his father's spirit. His father would think him foolish for squandering real tender, more so if he knew it was his troop's wages, but it was a gift, and this is what it was intended for. A gift of offering from those that loved him, honoured him and remembered him.

He kneeled on the cold snow, his knees frostbitten as the ice seeped through; he prayed until the incense had burned to a dancing shadow drifting through the night.


	10. X: Sweet Retribution

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**X (Opportunities): Sweet Retribution**

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You can blame CC for this one. 'Why so serious,' she said, 'I know you have a sense of humour, repressed though it may be!'

So I made an unserious one; a notable change in tempo.

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Bienvenue, Latvija and Mexico. Further Kudos to Bao Li Na.

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Everything had seemed fine moments ago, now his skull was pounding and his eyes were flashing shades of red before him. His stomach twisted and he turned violently, heaving up what little rations he'd eaten that day. He felt sweaty and cold, and there was the moist, slimy sensation of blood dripping down the back of his head.

'Get up!' his attacker ordered.

Strange, Shang had the faintest recollection that he was the commanding officer. Yet…_yet_ something within him desperately wanted to obey that soft voice.

'Get. Up.' The elusive voice repeated; the vaguest hint of a smile in the sound.

He swung a leg out deftly, rounding a kick as he stood. His opponent lunged backwards; their agile legs clearly bounding over his much larger one, despite wobbling slightly when they landed. His stern eyes travelled up the torso as he shook off the concussion, his brain faltering slightly as he noticed the soldier's chest: Breasts? Who has..._ah_, how could he forget!

'Captain Fa, yes, I owe you a rematch.'

She crouched down, fists guarding her. Upon her left leg was a bandage, an injury from that morning's skirmish. Shang felt a pang of guilt wash over him as his eyes lingered on the wound; it was his fault she'd taken that arrow: a foolish moment of sentimentality that could have cost her life. Though her face was sombre now, gleeful almost, he suspected it was the burning anger hidden beneath that had cost him the blow to the head that started this match.

They began to parry: a punch here, a block there; a kick here, a jump there. He was meticulous and methodical. Memories of ideals and principles of the five fundamentals struck her as she studied his movements. Li Shang embodied those traits with his strong movements. Astonishing her with how a single punch could be so powerful, careful and balanced; so precise and fierce it could fell her without bruise or blemish.

She lacked that finesse with her abrupt, incoherent mess of flailing limbs and unorthodox jabs. Still, they seemed so evenly skilled at times that these matches almost deemed themselves benign. Their longest twilight soiree had lasted from leaving the mess hall to the guard change at midnight. Mulan had thrown her wine in Shang's face after he'd made a derogatory remark regarding her gender. There had been a silent agreement to take it outside; after hours of violent beating and berating there had been no clear victor, just two very battered souls. Mulan kept a record of such disputes; it was "a matter of honour" she'd muttered when he noticed it: times, dates, movements, and an inexplicable code neatly written next to each of the descriptions. She had yet to explain what it was, though he had his suspicions from the blush on her face when he'd questioned her; a blush that told him more than a few coy words ever could.

He flicked his wrist up after she blocked a punch, landing a fierce uppercut into her chin. He'd exposed himself in the melee and she landed a kick into his stomach, low enough to let him know she could have hit him lower; aggressive enough for him to have known she wanted to hit him lower.

He latched onto her hair and pulled her down; she rolled onto her hands and kicked him in the knees. Both stumbled backwards a little.

'Come on, _Shang_, you can do better than that.'

He glared at her: he hated it when she spoke like that in a fight, purring his name; seducing him with her lithe timbre. She was too playful, too _alluring_. It was the sort of intonation that should have been kept sacred for the bedchamber. In a sparring match it was wrong, as pleasurable as the sound might have been, one shouldn't be alluring to their enemy; what sort of position would that lead your men to in a war? He steeled himself and grinned back at her; General Li Shang was not going to be beguiled tonight!

He dropped his frame and swept another kick under her feet, skidding beneath her before pulling her arms behind her back and over her head.

Mulan could feel Shang's stubble on her neck, grazing her skin so tentatively. Her breathing quickened despite herself. How she wanted to lean into that touch...

'Escape from me now!' Shang whispered, the smugness in his voice echoing against her ear. He was holding her arms above her head, his large hands having twisted her limbs with a painfully firm grip; one thick, muscular leg knotted tightly around hers, her back tugged firmly into his torso. She flailed wildly with her free leg but only managed to kick herself in the shin, causing her to hiss as pain shot through her leg. He dropped her and she crumpled in on herself, panting and sweaty.

'Two out of three?' he goaded, falling back into his attack stance, shuffling on his feet, fists ready before him. Another of his satisfied smirks splayed across his beautiful face.

Mulan briefly glanced up. The moon was beginning to wane; she should have been in bed: sleeping, dreaming...dreaming of those accidental touches and unforced smiles. She huffed as she brushed herself off. It was much more thrilling to be outside inciting reception of those accidental touches instead of waking to their ghosts tormenting her skin.

'I won't hold back this time,' Mulan warned, her face warming at their continued proximity. He should have been in bed too.

Shang had to stifle a laugh. She couldn't possible think she had something over him. Another grin curled his lips as he began assessing his arsenal. A second later his shirt was tossed aside and he straightened his topknot. Her eyebrows shot up like a cat when his fingers swiftly retied the red ribbon, her mouth opening slightly as her eyes fastened to his dark locks. He grinned at her with a knowing look, his eyes daring her to stare, wanting her to; her reaction too unguarded for there to have been no attachment behind it.

Mulan immediately tried to hide her blush, momentarily provoked by the idea of throwing her own tunic aside. That'd fault him. If he wanted to go three out of five, it was coming off. What did she care for propriety if she could paralyse the unbreakable man!

He began by using adapted Tai-Chi movements. Cunning bastard she thought. He often worked through a repertoire of styles. Too bad his footing never gave him away, so precise, so measured…so _Li Shang_!

'You would have made a beautiful dancer,' Mulan sneered, chuckling to herself. Words were important: he was too agile, she needed to get the upper-hand or he'd win all three rounds. Damned bronzed god!

'And you a dangerous concubine,' he retorted, leaping over her as if she shared the stature of a field mushroom. 'I can see why the Emperor offered you a position in the army…not one in his bed.'

'She'd never kill him in 'is sleep!' a third voice added. Mulan used the moment to her advantage and kneed Shang in the sternum. He dropped to the ground, raising one arm: a silent plea for mercy. She had won the second round.

Shang's eyes lifted to the source of the voice, Mulan's three dear lieutenants grinning stupidly at the pair from their night duty on the watchtower. And what an astounding example they were setting, gawking at Mulan and him instead of performing their duties!

'Our Mulan could beat you in her sleep, drunk and half-dead, pretty boy.' Yao jeered; obviously proud that Captain Fa had beaten General Li.

'Three out of five,' Mulan offered after a moment, wiping her brow on her sleeve.

Shang's eyes loitered on her, intrigued and dubious. 'You're not going to faint on me? You lost a lot of blood today Captain…' but his eyes betrayed him, falling to her hips, where her tunic was tied neatly at her waist; a delicate hand paused there momentarily before flicking the ties aside. She rolled her shoulders back and the top half of her uniform was on the ground, sprawled open near his discarded garment.

The three in the watchtower wolf-whistled at the sight, appraising their beloved Captain with couplets denoting her strength and beauty; Shang felt undoubtedly at a disadvantage. Mulan stood before him, nothing covering her breasts but her silk-embroidered undergarment, the glowing flesh of her lower abdomen mocking him. It was too much for him; too many times had his hands brushed across her curves, feigning innocence, his mind pondering what lay beneath that uniform. He saw the kick to his head with enough time to dodge it, but then her back was exposed to him: the sun-kissed expanse covered only by the two knotted crisscrossing silk straps that held the garment in place.

As she turned and his mind escaped it's stupor he noticed the edge of the silvery scar on her ribs: a faded reminder of another failing on his behalf, too much like the one this morning past.

'It seems you have an unfair advantage,' he growled, his emotions besting him, his hands trembling. He couldn't hit her in the chest, stomach, head or left leg; she was teasing him with her flesh, beyond that, he was ashamed he wasn't the one that wore those scars.

'Precipitous Terrain,' she smirked in response, he would understand the reference.

'Incorrect, Fa,' Shang snarled, 'Deadlock!' With her succulent flesh all tender and exposed he had no grounds to move. _Little witch_, he thought, smiling all the while, not in the least bit ashamed of drinking her in under the moonlight. 'What would your father think of such forwardness Mulan: compromising your modesty to four military men!'

'It's nuttin we ain't seen before,' Yao bellowed, the trio laughing as their General suddenly paled. Let his imagination take that wherever he wanted, they weren't going to explain it.

'Yeah,' Ling continued, in an attempt to further agitate their commander. '_Ping_ had to bathe with the recruits too General.'

Shang was almost shaking when Mulan looked at him, his war-face set squarely as he fought the urge to leap onto the tower and trounce those three buffoons.

If only he could have leapt back in time and thrash his naivety!

'My father would understand my actions,' Mulan said using that same logic-filled voice she always used to break Shang's rants. 'He did agree to me joining the Imperial Army; somehow I think he knows I'm safer with a thousand men, completely naked, than with the Matchmaker, alone, and preened in finery!'

His first punch was fierce. _Good_, Mulan thought. He was angry now, that was his first mistake toward defeat.

Again they were parrying. Punching, twisting, hitting, kicking, blocking, pulling and jabbing. Again Mulan thought she should have been in bed. Fatigue was starting to set in and Shang's movements were starting to make less and less sense. She thought she saw him stumble a little, but the next thing she knew she was face first on the ground and he was crouching over her, one broad hand firmly holding her down at the hip, spread across her skin. She shyly smiled to herself: another stolen intimacy, another memory to relish.

'I'm tired,' Mulan whimpered, flopping into the ground. Shang's hand lightened a little but didn't move, speculative and defensive; reluctant to leave her skin she hoped somewhat desperately. He knew she was bluffing, waiting for an opening to flip him underneath her. Pin him with her thighs.

'Please Shang, I'm in pain!'

His hand slid across her before pulling away, so delicate in its movements it could have been mistaken for a lover's caress: a gentle farewell as he slid from her side, from her bed. The instant it happened Shang felt foolish. He was underneath her: trapped between her legs, even injured her thighs were her strongest muscles. His head fell back against the ground in defeat, there was another emotion swimming in his mind as well and his frown broke a little. This sort of torment was of an illicit, saccharine kind.

'That's two to you and two to me,' she grinned, leaning in to murmur to him in that laughing, sensuous voice of hers. He just lay there, staring up at her, from past experience he knew it was the most unnerving thing he could do to her: that uncaring, impatient twitch in his lip; the bored, contemptuous look in his eyes; the irritated sigh that said more than words could.

The look he gave Qifu.

'Do you concede your forces?' She smirked, pressing her thighs into him. Shang braced himself underneath her, if she did that again he would forsake more than his morals.

'I can't move,' he grumbled, supressing a groan when she rocked on him. Her injured leg quaked, and she jolted atop him. Mulan had ensnared him with her body before, but she had never savoured his capture like she was tonight. No, being trapped between her legs, their bodies clinging to each other in sweat, this was far from innocent.

Her fingers slid down his chest, her lips were millimetres from his, her warm breath on his face. 'I wouldn't be able to stop you if you tried,' she rasped against his ear, sliding off Shang almost as sumptuously as his fingers had dragged across her flesh, yet all the while grumping and groaning as if it was the most exasperating thing she'd ever done. 'I forfeit,' she mumbled, panting as the dizziness began to set in again. 'I think I tore the stitches.'

Shang righted himself immediately, reaching for his sparring partner's injured leg and unbinding the bandages as Mulan swore under her breath. The opium had worn off and her body was too sensitive to be touched right now, especially by the calloused hands of her General.

'Harden up soldier!' Shang muttered, a small curtain of hair escaping his top-knot and obscuring the sly smile on his face. The wound was fine, she was probably just sore from her exertions. 'Take some of the opium the medic left you…the muscles badly bruised,' he grinned, applying just enough pressure with his index finger to make her shudder.

'I hate you…_Li Shang_!_'_ she groused, propping herself up as she caught her breath. He just raised an eyebrow at her, his trademark arrogant grin on his face.

They both knew that was far from the truth.


	11. XI: Loyalty is a Heavy Woven Brocade

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu & Takeshi Hasami**

**XI (33%): Loyalty is a Heavy-woven Brocade**

* * *

Arithmetic killed the plot bunny dead. D.E.A.D!

* * *

China and the Philippines, thanks for reading! My Shanghainese Ancestors are shining down on you!

* * *

Provoked into stirring Mulan sat up, rubbing her eyes, scanning the hazy area around her. A nervous herald stood before her, stressing from one foot to the other, wringing his hands as if he knew not what to do with them. He dropped in obeisance as she lifted herself to a standing position.

'The Generals request your presence,' the boy stuttered. His frame seemed more like a child's body than a man as he kneeled, curled in on himself, a conscript no doubts. Someone who forsook the remnants of a childhood for glory, someone with aging parents and younger siblings; someone too frightened of the possessed woman-soldier to make eye contact with her.

'Very well,' Mulan moaned, displeased at being roused from her slumber. She ordered the boy to his feet and began the eventide march through the brisk air, all thoughts aside as she ruminated on her interrupted sleep; her only real pleasure in this mess that had become her life.

The boy scampered ahead of her, leaving her to drift in what felt like a royal cavalcade. She huffed in annoyance as her eyes scanned the surroundings; much of everything was as it should be: no lamp lit that need not be; no soldier on guard that need not be; no suspicious machinations swelling in the night time revelry.

'This better be important,' Mulan snapped when her guide shifted route, heading towards the northern end of the encampment, the central battlement.

'Yes, Captain,' the boy very nearly shrieked. 'General Xi said your attendance was of the utmost importance.'

No sooner had the boy silenced himself did he direct Mulan up the stairwell leading to the General's quarters. The young soldier prostrated himself before her and pointed to a curtained entranceway, bowing and praising her. She flushed with embarrassment as she nodded at the boy, trying to dismiss him as politely as her impatience allowed.

Reaching for the silk brocade as the boy skidded down the stairs, Mulan froze mid-step as she balked at the room before her. Eleven sets of eyes locking onto her momentarily. Another drowsy, half-dressed Captain pushed passed her and their attentions returned to their prior focus.

General Fong Huan was nearest her, the aging officer having deposited himself inside the doorway in his silk bed shirt, a look of disinterest and apostasy on his face; one arm folded across his chest, the other supporting his chin. One slipper clad foot pointed towards the doorway, as if he intended to make a hasty escape. For a brief moment he regarded her, nodding slightly and returning his attentions to the animated strategist, pointing out locations on a woven map and pontificating jubilantly.

Mulan stepped closer to Huan, folding her arms across her chest as she pulled her robe around her. His state of undress, including that of half the other generals and captains delivered her a great deal of relief. Clothed in trousers and her training robe, though it remained untied, at least all that mattered was covered.

'Don't know about you,' the General muttered, leaning down towards Mulan slightly, 'but I'd rather be in bed right now.'

If she'd been more awake she would have chuckled, as it was, a disjointed smirk was the most she could manage.

'Ah, see, even the younglings are struggling,' the older man joked, pointing discreetly to a Captain Mulan knew as Liang across the room. He was leaning against one of the support beams, his eyes drooping and his mind obviously on the cusp of dreamland.

Mulan let out a snort, straightening herself out in a pathetic attempt to stifle the giggle that bubbled out of her chest.

The Chamberlain glared at her. Fong made a warbling noise in his throat and returned the glare.

'My sincere apologies,' the elderly man stated, 'I was so enthused by your plans I must have fallen asleep presently. Do forgive an old man his infirmities.'

His eyes laughed as they were turned to Mulan, who promptly smacked a hand over her mouth and tucked the other behind her back. Though he couldn't see it, her mouth was spread with a roguish grin. A hand pressed into her shoulder and she swung her head around smiling, still thinking on the older Generals jest. She gulped down her joy as she met the steely glance of familiar eyes, folding her hands neatly behind her back and commanding herself to focus on the speaker. Naturally Shang was dressed in full military regalia, as if he had not slept at all.

'We should divide the archers; send the Cavalry across on a skirmish. If we can segregate them early we will profit more swiftly!'

'We should remain at the forts,' another voice added. 'Our force will overwhelm them!'

'We should go back to bed!' one if the younger Generals hollered, receiving cheers and slaps on the back from his comrades. 'Discuss this ridiculous plan in the morning!'

The hand on Mulan's shoulder squeezed again before dropping slightly and steering her across the room, only falling away once they had reached their destination. Shang stood before the map meticulously studying it. Mulan quickly traced the lines his eyes were marking out.

'We could –' he mumbled, gesticulating lightly, vaguely. Only a true confidant would have followed his train of thoughts.

'We'd be ill-advised to leave ourselves open there,' Mulan muttered, her hand hovering over Shang's briefly. 'Here is better. Their horses can't handle this terrain. If we...'

'Yes...' he scratched his chin, the shadow of a beard irritating him. 'Could you manage here?' he smirked, circling a marking of mountains. Mulan nodded her head. Part of her duties was to explore terrain with her cavalry. It was something she enjoyed and profited from. She knew the area Shang pointed to well, they would definitely have an advantage there.

'I can perform recognizance early tomorrow,' she said, fingering the map lightly. Her mind whirling into preparations needed to be made.

Shang hummed in affirmation, his voice weary, tired, 'broaden the area you cover though; leave no room for error.' He leant in towards her, whispering against her skin. 'I would suggest you attire yourself in uniform at our next midnight vigil. Your repute will be all but ruined if you continue with this disrespect for yourself!' He moved his hand around the map as he spoke, the warning disguised as a further implicit order. Mulan nodded her head, feeling the pimples rise on her skin, newly reminded of her lack of coverings. She tugged the untied robe tightly around herself as Shang reverted back to his strategy, nodding her head as he gently expressed his plan.

'You do understand, don't you Fa?' he said after a moment, contemplating her thoughtfully. She tugged on the robe again.

'Yes General!'

'Madame Fa could ride out as she is,' a drunk, proud voice laughed. 'I for one would not be thinking of...war, if that,' he leered towards her, waving his arm as if he could trace her curves. 'If that was riding towards me…mounted on a stallion, war would not be the foremost of thoughts on my mind!'

Shang stepped forward as if to contend with the soldier then moved away from the map, turning to discuss something with the strategist. Seething in anger Mulan marched over to the General, glaring up at him. He was a little older than Shang, wearing his hair in a shorter, monastic fashion; he had an earring dangling from his left ear and his skin was lighter in colour than pure Han blood. She thought better than to lower herself to his esteem, turning away as he ridiculed her further, jeers and taunts echoing throughout the room.

'With all due respect, Sir,' she glowered, swiftly recovering the distance she covered and fiercely slapping the General in the face. 'You will know that what I do to defend my honour will be the same as any other unwed maiden!' Mulan raised her arm to strike the man again when something pulled her back. The gauntleted grip tightened painfully on her wrist, the metal studs of the glove digging into her flesh.

'Once in defence I will allow,' Shang commanded, 'twice insubordination.' He dropped her arm roughly, shoving her forward. 'Raise your hand towards General Chao again, or any other ranking officer in anything more than defence of your sex and I will oversee your execution. You will know your place, Captain. You gender and its delicacies will not be an excuse for contempt.'

Shuddering at his tones and the dark challenge behind his eyes Mulan bowed lightly, stepping away to a safe distance. Disgrace imbued Shang's features as he looked down at her, dismissing her and ordering her away. In attempt to regain some semblance of worthiness she nodded and bowed politely to each officer that she passed, stepping into a run when her bare feet hit the wooden steps outside; she fled with little remnants of her dignity intact.

Shadows and tents flashed passed her eyes as she sped down the makeshift thoroughfares; darting around soldiers lazing by fires, smoking and drinking, figures sharpening blades or cleaning armour. The pulsing thump of her footsteps fell in with her pounding heart. Trees brushed passed, then deeper shadows. She ducked under the gateway she passed Shang most mornings, biting off a sob. She stumbled on the grass, thinking that she'd caught herself she ran harder, vacillating slightly; the fortress walls were marked in the horizon, becoming clearer the further she ran. Mulan slammed into the wooden walls, wailing at the force; panting into the splintered surface. Punching and kicking the barrier. She let out an angry screech, swearing as her hands stung with prickles from the wood, tiny shards snapping into her palms as she hammered the blockade.

That day in the mountains with him leaning over her, his sword at hand; the look in his eyes told her he'd do it. She wept to herself, his angry eyes burning her still. It tore at her heart, the disappointment on his face. It hurt more than disappointing her father. And there was nowhere to run this time.

...

Mulan whimpered as coldness spread over her. Curling further in on herself she pulled at her blanket, snatching for the elusive item. Chein-Po's face swam into her vision, floating before her like a reflection on the water. The vision appeared to bow his head and speak…something. He was still floating.

'General Li calls for you, Mulan,' the warm voice chimed in its sing-song way. She turned away, canvas blinding her. A large hand pulled her at her waist; if it was anyone else she would have swatted at it. 'Please, Mulan…there is a penalty if you refuse his order.' Entertaining the thought of dissidence Mulan growled, pulling her blanket over her head.

'What can he do? Chop off my head.'

'That is what he said.' Chein-Po added, grave overtones hanging off his voice. He begged her again, rocking her once more. 'Please!'

'Fine,' she snapped, throwing away the rug and straightening the uniform she'd slept in. 'You're dismissed!' She bit out, stomping into her shoes and storming over to the General's quarters, following the same route as the night before. Regardless, her feet knew the path by memory. She stampeded up the steps and threw the curtain aside, not caring if she barged in on an unseemly situation or interrupted a consultation.

'You bellowed?' She spat, remaining to hover over the threshold.

Shang observed her over his tea, his face calm and undiscernible. Silently, he ordered her to sit across from him. She obeyed albeit with disrespect, sulking over to the cushion and kicking it aside before dropping herself unceremoniously on the flooring. A cup of tea was offered to her but she refused it. Sighing, he began,

'There are several matters we need discuss. First and foremost, your attitude! A woman of the Court, whether Queen Consort or Concubine, would not conduct herself as you did last night, regardless of what remarks, derogatory or otherwise are directed at her, pointedly or otherwise –'

'You seem to forget that the only _duty_ for _Women of Court_ is to bed men!'

'As I was saying –'

'No! Not _as you were saying_! My responsibilities are to kill people, not bed men! The reason why those sorts of women don't defend themselves is because that _is_ their duty: to pleasure…'

'AS I WAS SAYING,' Shang yelled, raising himself slightly. 'You're a member of the Court now and you will behave appropriately for your station! If you're worried about your reputation then it is your responsibility to ensure it. What Chao said was repulsive, and I won't defend him; neither, however, will I allow you attack senior officers and forsake us both! Hit him once and I'll turn a blind eye to your actions, but if you ever – and I mean ever – hit him again I will not be your saviour. Your actions are inexcusable! If you want to be angry, you can be angry at me! If you want to be belligerent towards Chao – or anyone else – you can direct that at me!'

'You won't defend him, but you'll slate me?'

'Chao is not _my_ Captain!'

Mulan shivered slightly at his tone. Shang hadn't raised his voice at her for so long; she had almost forgotten the man he had been at Wu Zhong. In the mists of everything, she'd forgotten that he was her commanding officer. She bit her lips and reached for the tea, tracing the lip of the cup as she wrapped her hands around it. Guilt was building in the pit of her stomach, and shame.

'He called me a whore, Shang. And they were all laughing, saying I was worthless; Qifu was cackling like a rooster. And you said nothing, you just –'

'I cannot say anything – I am not your husband or your father.'

'I thought you were my friend!'

'If I defended you I implicated myself, Mulan. Do you honestly think they have not seen us together? Nothing is sacred here, nothing is surreptitious! What am I to say in your defence? That you're innocent? Unplucked? A _spring flower_? The only way I would definitively know that is if I was the man that took your maidenhood from you! They already think I have bedded you; why else would you be my captain. Don't be so naïve! There is nothing I can say, or do. Because of that I allowed you to strike him. Your own anger proved your innocence; mine would have vanquished it!'


	12. XII: Ambiguity Draws a Fire

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu & Takeshi Hasami**

**XII (Dead Wrong): Ambiguity Draws a Fire**

* * *

_'The Tiger inside will Eat the Child', (Nightflight Album, Kate Miller-Heidke)_

* * *

What had begun as a misunderstanding, swiftly descended into a fight; his words were as guarded and double-edged as they always were. He'd screeched at her, thrown things; rampaged around his quarters. It was a violence that ruptured his eloquent nature. Her duties, as he had reminded her, were not to be ignored because she was upset. If she wanted to remain in service, she would have to forget she was a woman. War, was no place for emotion.

There was always something wanting in his voice though. Something he wouldn't say, whether he despised her or adored her Mulan couldn't tell. He was harsh with her, as though he knew he could push her harder; as though the fates that had tied them together could hold them together, irrespective of the forces thrashing at those bonds. Maybe it was because they had fought alongside each other for two years now. Maybe it was because she had forced something more from him than his honour allowed. Maybe she was just what Chao had said, a whore coercing a better position for herself in this life. Shang was a proud man, the eldest son of a prestigious family. What more would he see in a peasant soldier that broke the law than a warm body, something to sate himself with. He wasn't a friend. A friend would have placed his reputation aside in favour of protecting her own. Ling and Yao always did; even Fong Huan had at that meeting. Chein-Po was her guard as part of his duties, every day he battled snide remarks with his lyrical chants, never-so-much as a laugh and a smile to defend himself. So why was it different for Shang? Why did he mutely stand aside as she was degraded before their comrades? Wasn't it bad for morale if nothing else?

His voice rang through her head; his bitter tone resonating within her. The anger with which he'd said she was naïve, the way he glared at her when he said the only way he'd know for certain is if he was her bedfellow. It was so poignant. No shame evident. The audacious spirit within him wanting to rise to the challenge, wanting her to rise too; a slinging match would quell the animosity.

Tempers and voices rose. His sensibilities evaded him as he lost control, raising his voice in a way he never had before. Even useless Ping failed to stir such disdain. He flung his arms about wildly, forcing her down when she tried to stand. 'You will listen!' Shang growled loudly, circling her. Somnolent of her wilful nature, he was determined to put her in her place. He had ranted at her then. Her tea went cold, his was forgotten. His anger consumed him as he prowled around his quarters, eyes diverted to his prey.

He prattled about dignity, and his reputation as a General. Babbling of his losses if she fails; how his honour is on the line for her. Nattering about everything he'd strived for and how her stupidity nearly eradicated it all. Nothing really struck her with his vulgar display until he unsheathed his sword and pointed it towards himself. 'It's my head, Mulan, not yours! My life is the price of your folly.' He dropped the weapon and it clattered on the floor, smothering his face with his hands. She motioned towards him as his hands dropped a little. His tired eyes watched her. 'Just go,' he whispered, holding her gaze. 'You have orders to heed. For the love of your ancestors, please, just do what you're told for once, without impertinence!'

The image hadn't left her. Shang slumped forward, his face in his hands and his sword at his feet. She'd never seen him look so conflicted, so defeated. She'd stepped towards him, whether it was to embrace him or kiss him she wasn't sure, she just felt the need to soothe him, to be there for him. His body shuddered with rigidity as she brushed his sleeve.

'Go,' he repeated, lifting his eyes to her. 'It's a simple order. Go. Leave! NOW!' Her fingers flinched against his arm. His eyes seared into her. 'GO!' he yelled, spittle smattering across her face. When she failed to move he pushed her hands away from him, shoving her backwards. She hadn't expected the force behind the movement and struggled to regain her balance, falling hard into the flooring. Shang was shaking as he turned away, 'Please,' he begged, his voice losing its virulence. 'Go before I change my mind again.'


	13. XIII: Knowing Honour

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**XIII (Running Away): Knowing Honour**

* * *

The question really is _who_ is doing the _running_?

* * *

'Open the gates!' roared a battered looking soldier, his horse limping and his tunic torn. Seeing the beacon flare to life, he repeated the order. 'Open the damn gates! We've wounded men. We need the medic!'

Instantly the camp stirred to life. The evening guards moving as fast as their feet allowed them to, unbolting and opening the gateway, watching the men drift through the entryway, bloodied and bruised. Some horses trotting along behind their own, laden with the corpses of their riders.

General Li searched through the men for his Captain. She was nowhere to be seen. 'Who's in charge?' he gulped, feeling that familiar hollowness sweep over him. 'What happened?'

The man leading the legion approached him, bowing lowly. 'They weren't expecting us, Sir. We found their camp; they'd moved west, to the foothills. Captain Fa said we'd compromised ourselves; we had to fight or we'd lead them back to camp. She was...we struck them down Sir, with heavy casualties.'

'Is your Captain amongst the fallen?'

'I don't know, we –' he kneeled down before the General. 'Captain Fa used fire arrows; some of the men are unrecognisable. There is nothing of their camp but some charred remains. A handful of men stayed behind, maybe she is with them. ' He paused, prostrating himself further, 'Sir, there were deserters, in the fray.'

...

Mulan scanned the remnants, crunching through the ash and soot, gleaning what she could from the entrails of war. Burnt flesh permeated the air, cinders still crackling underfoot. Swords glowed with an eerie orange, smouldering ethereal in the blackened aftermath. There was nothing left, no life, no hope. This garrison would be reporting no longer. A soldier approached her, kneeling next to her, 'It was a central outpost ma'am. We've scouted the area. We've weakened them by this. We've cut off a limb.'

'I know,' Mulan whispered. 'Still, it has cost us one of our own for the prize. This is more casualties than what is right.'

'Those men didn't heed your orders, Ma'am,' the soldier added, daring to drape an arm around her and assist her to her feet. 'Not to speak disrespectfully, but a death on the field is nobler than the penalty they would have faced for absconding.'

'I've never been refused an order before,' Mulan sniffed, padding her eyes with the backs of her hands; rubbing them more ferociously when soot and dust irritated them. 'We had no choice. We couldn't lead them back to Suiye.'

'No, you made the right decision. There are no survivors on the Huns part. We found some cattle and horses, and a prize General Li will be appreciative of.'

She lifted her eyes to the soldier, his yellow teeth the only visible part of his blackened face. His grin broadened as he nodded towards the few remaining troops, herding the cattle together with the horses; gathering them to return to camp. A young soldier clung clumsily to something long, rolled and folded in burnt furs.

'Li Chen's sword…'

'The boy found it,' the soldier smiled. 'Must of been a brigand in a past life the way he lunged at the leader, plunged his sword right through the beast, no qualms. I've never seen anything like it.'

'The General will commend you,' she yelled out to the dirtied boy. He shuddered as he turned to her, grinning triumphantly in his heroic stupor. 'We will drink to you when we return!'

...

They hobbled into camp at noon, banging on the gates until they were opened. The victorious boy-soldier leading the procession, the late-General's sword hoisted into the air. A train of cattle and horses interspersed with staggering cavalry, slumped against their horses. Mulan was bringing up the rear, the soldier that had been so kind to her at her side.

Men hollered praise across the camp at the sight of the beasts; the guards in the watchtowers chanting gratitude down at the party as they opened the gates, relieved and beholden that the small party had returned.

General Li scrambled to his feet from his self-assigned outpost, bounding down the watchtower stairs two at a time. His eyes locked onto the sword at the vanguard and the scraggly excuse for a warrior attached to it. Mulan cantered Khan along, steadying him next to the boy.

'He killed their leader. He needs to be moved to the militia, that's where his strengths are.' Shang looked at her with pained eyes. It was broken and unguarded. Something inside him had snapped. 'He should serve under you,' she added, desperate to warm those eyes despite their severed bond. 'He retrieved your Father's sword.' She folded her arms before her, leaning against her horse's mane and stifling a yawn. She smiled wanly at her commanding officer. He was a good man, in his heart.

'I think he'd settle for a fatherly hug, Shang.'

General Fong stepped passed Shang when he seemed fastened into the ground. He too had assigned himself as sentry, curious to see the woman Captain's return; curious for other reasons than those of his younger companion. Unencumbered and carefree of stiff-necked court manners he bowed to the boy then roughly embraced him, grinning and ruffling his filthy hair.

'Just like my grandboy,' Huan muttered, 'all brawn, no brain. But sometimes that's what we need. Our gratitude, young man; you're welcome to serve with me if Shang won't have you!'

Mulan glanced at Shang again, mouthing something to him and nodding towards the boy. He swallowed heavily, stepping forward and awkwardly squeezing the child-soldier. Khan trotted by him, his rider's face stoic as she directed him, no stray glance thrown his way, no smile, nod or squeeze of the shoulder. Idling was not something a Captain could afford. He had taught her that.

...

A shadow quivered against her tent, lamplight flickering in the night. It was a shadow she was sure she would know even if she were blind. Dismissing her report, Mulan rose and tugged the fabric folds open. Shang stood outside, his hands folded behind his back, his uniform as disarrayed as his immaculate nature allowed. His eyes were a little calmer as they caught hers, but they were still drifting out at sea.

'You can come in,' she smiled, waving her arm inside her quarters.

His eyes lingered on her form, studying for something: injuries, bruises, new scars. 'You're alright?' He intoned, stepping across the threshold.

'I'm fine,' she slipped back to her small table, returning to her scroll. Shang seated himself across from her, his eyes still questioning her. He scrutinised her carefully as she ground down an ink stick.

'You seem distant,' folding his hands in his lap, he examined the many callouses, listening to her silence, knowing that impenetrable nexus had fallen and that he had felled it, singlehandedly.

'I've signed the warrants, Shang. I condemn three men to death tomorrow.'

He nodded his head, reaching for her hand, tracing her fingers lightly. Not brave enough to thread his fingers with hers. Not sure if she'd allow him to. Silence with silence. She dropped her ink and stone, tracing the creases of his upturned palms. Absolved and absolution.

'How do you live with that guilt,' she asked, her eyes searching his. As lost as his.

His thumb brushed across her pulse point, sliding over her skin, pausing as he experimented with the feel and touch of her. 'You pray,' he whispered, gently clasping both his hands around her much daintier ones, raising her fingers to his lips. 'I pray,' he repeated, eyes intent on her as he tenderly kissed each of her digits. 'Mulan...I'm sorry.'


	14. XIV: Yoke of Duty

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**XIV (Judgement): Yoke of Duty**

* * *

Three soldiers stood stripped to the waist, shackled and forced into the muddied ground. Beside each was a soldier-elected-executioner, a necessary duty for a few chosen men. Good men, strong men. General Xi's most trusted lieutenants. Ornate helmets obscured their faces, swords unwavering at their sides. These men did not fear ghosts. They were ghosts.

Qifu paraded himself before them, an unusually flamboyant brocade adorning his stork-like body. His step was indelicate, haughty: joyous. He regarded the entire gathering with contempt, no feelings reserved solely for the condemned. There were profits to be made from these commotions. Thinning out the dissidents strengthened the army, and that strengthened his personal ties to the Emperor. The price others paid for his advancements was not something that kept him awake at night.

Above, on the gallery overlooking the training grounds stood the Generals, assembled in formation, proud and rigid. Captain Fa securely tucked in between General Li and General Fong. She tried to mimic Shang's emotionless expression, folding her arms behind her back and jutting her chin. Huan draped an arm over her shoulder when she shuddered at the display. Shang's eyes caught hers briefly.

'Do you confess to the charges laid against you,' Qifu shrieked, a sickening pleasure saturating his voice. It wasn't a question.

Mulan choked on a lump in her throat at the three folded bodies. They shuffled slightly in the mud, their bodies stiffening in trepidation; their breathing quickened. It was too late for regrets now. A warm hand grasped the hand behind her back, squeezing hers lightly. Huan tugged her a little closer.

Silence enveloped the assembly. The swords were raised, a familiar sound sliced through the air. Mulan pitched forward, the anguished yelp silenced as a pair of fingers covered her mouth. She bit down on them, drawing blood as three arms steadied her. Shang sunk a little with her, his eyes steadfast; no signs of pain or disgust. Her teeth dug into his skin, her eyes burning as the final slice edged through the air.

Huan tried to straighten her. 'You must be strong for your men,' he reprimanded, the severe sound reminiscent of her father's voice.

'No –' Shang interred, 'You need to be yourself. It's your heart that your men respect.' She crumpled in on herself then, crying convulsively as Shang removed his hand from her mouth. Both he and Huan held her there, supporting her but not cradling her: making a spectacle of her to their men. Taunting them to follow their disobedient comrades; forcing them to decide if this agony was worth repeating.


	15. XV: In the Hands of my Own

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**XV (Seeking Solace): In the Hands of my Own**

* * *

Barefoot and nothing covering him but training pants. Armour discarded and hair unkempt. Li Shang was unrecognisable sitting out in the moonlight, his father's sword at his side. A pair of captains had already reprimanded him, realising too late it was one of the Elite they were mocking. He threatened them mutely, gauging them with his eyes; discharging them with mild amusement. When the soft laughter left him his attentions returned to the metal beside him, his fingers drifting over the blade.

The weight was wrong.

The last time he clutched it he shuddered under the burden. His hands fitted neatly around the hilt, his father directing him to sway with the blade, not against it. Shang couldn't clamp a single hand around it now; the cross- guard clipped his skin, the grip too short and the pommel made holding it awkward. He was militia trained: his Changdao was broad and heavy, intended to be used with both hands, for close combat. His father's light, the blade thinner and longer in length, not in the least unusual for Cavaliers. Mulan's Jian wasn't dissimilar. The hilt of hers was decorated with jade instead of onyx; the blade dressed with a phoenix not a dragon. Hers wasn't as long though; the blade a little lighter, designed for her as it was. Both were gifts from the Emperor for beloved children. Both soldiers' talents observed in the same field.

Maybe he would be rewarded with such a gift at the end of this war, if he didn't die in the midst of it.

...

The soldier that found her was too scared to report it. Shaken that maybe some grim misdeed had happened upon her. The others that passed, though concerned, thought that someone else had followed up on it. One just didn't care. He had been friends with the so-called deserters, the men she had executed; why should he bother himself with the woman in the stables. Khan stirred at the threat, ever watchful of his mistress. The whine startled Mulan awake, throwing herself forward from her makeshift bed in the chaff. Khan snorted in the soldier's direction; the recruit wary enough of the angered beast to depart. She shared a glance with her best friend a moment, petting and nuzzling him. He nudged her gently, rubbing his nose against her cheek.

His mane was still damp from her tears the night before.

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Firstly...paragraph breaks have now been fixed. _

_And secondly, these updates are about to become irregular. The muse has changed, and she is dragging me down a different path, oh fickle wench that she is. Theme sixteen is written, CC has edited it and it's floating, waiting for me to decide whether or not it's nearly completely satisfactory. Aside from that…I'd probably direct you across to the blog, (details on profile page), as I'm thinking I might post some cheese over there that has blocked this writing here…Shang and Mulan, they keep sneaking off together earlier than I've told them they're allowed to. _

_Cheers, and thanks for reading, all of you, really, no matter who you are or where you're from (24 Countries and counting!). Thank you!_

_Xie xie_

_Nasu_


	16. XVI: The Seventh Admonition

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**XVI (Excuses): The Seventh Admonition**

* * *

Pai Mu Tan is a beautiful tea, when served correctly.

(Mulan quotes the Seventh Scene from the Admonition Scroll, Credits to Ancient China!)

* * *

They had tarried long enough. These plans needed to be thwarted. Meetings were called in the stillness of the night, while soldiers slept, officers resigned to dreams of sleep. They had mourned three days, waiting in the quiet to see if the factions moved. Where the cards would fall and the pieces land they did not know. Nothing was beyond these men, whoever they were. They had known the land better than their captain, leading her into a trap, handing her over. She was a woman. She was weak! She would break. The Cavalry would fall. But there had been a spark in her that day: ignited, fierce. She was not a woman that day – she was a captain – a soldier. Something suppressed and burning as she declared they fight. No hesitation, no query to her men though they were outnumbered.

She slew the first to turn against her, a rider just ahead of her. No regret. He had broken away, the leader, the chieftain of their offshoot. He'd barked an order in a tongue she didn't understand. It wasn't Chinese. His sword in hand he moved towards her. An unexpected distance covered, an angry stallion reared and a firm voice yelled "For the Emperor!" It was only the first of the things to come.

General Xi had twenty men disappear. Captain Liang was missing four. Mulan's charge had multiplied. A recruit had made an attempt on General Fong's life, and though the old man had laughed it off, nerves were on edge. Everyone was wary. Shang was observing everything; deliberating in his private, meticulous way. He did not trust easily. Any man unwise enough to betray him knew that betrayal would be carried to the grave. Retribution would be sought. He called the gathering together, disguised as a celebratory dinner. If insurgents could masquerade as warriors, he could disguise himself as a hedonistic courtier.

Plans and information were discreetly discussed, shared, hidden in open conversation. Mulan shared what she knew of the camp she had razed. Her recollections seemed to exasperate Qifu, impatient to spoil this menace lest his reputation be ruined. Another motive to attack her by; belittle her into submission – a man would have noticed the suspicions _she_ failed to see. Twisting the blame: it was her fault. Several of the men present had raised themselves as if to defend her, her behaviour on the field had been honourable. She was an equal.

'There is something I must do first,' Mulan said, cutting off Qifu in his tirade and faltering the generals in her movements. Her tone was regal, unquestionable. Releasing her hair, she rose and walked over to where General Chao was sitting. From the moment she had drawn herself into an erect position all eyes had gravitated to her. There was something demure in her nature: silent; curious. It was not a soldier that walked across the room; it was a woman, a beautiful woman.

Mulan bowed her head to Chao, kneeling before him with her arms outstretched, her chin tucked in, curled in on herself. Her forehead brushed against the floor. Shang felt a twinge of jealously stir within him. Why had she never displayed such intimacy to him?

'I am sorry, General.'

Genuine, warm: her pitch was exactly as it should be, as an apologetic wife might sound or a grovelling daughter.

'_If one's nature is not ornamented, rites and proper behaviour will become confused and erroneous. Chop it and embellish it; overcome your thoughts to make yourself holy_.' She raised her head a little, 'My sincerest apologies, Sir. It was wrong of me to have affronted you.'

Eyes lingering on her a moment, Chao understood the possessiveness with which Shang adhered to his female Captain. Mulan was alluring in an innocently provocative way. Neither of his wives had ever lowered themselves to her station, begging at his feet. Neither of his wives was as affluent or infamous as Fa Mulan. Shang had no need to be bitter, at that moment – with the whispers none of them dared speak – he became the most enviable man in that room. Fa Mulan did not while away the evening hours with anyone but him.

'What about my apology?' Huan laughed, breaking the sombre mood almost too swiftly. 'I lost a full night sleep because of you! Worrying and fretting over you.' It was a blatant exaggeration. He had passed the night drinking and playing Fan-tan, wagering anyone that was brave enough to challenge him. He had been awaiting the return only for his friend's son. Whatever had happened before that skirmish, the man was not in his right mind.

Nodding at her apology, Chao thanked her, gesturing in General Fong's direction. A friendly smile on his face, almost charming: as sincere as her apology had been.

'I fear if you don't apologise to him, we'll never hear the end of it.'

With a smirk on her face Mulan shuffled across to Huan and repeated the gesture. 'I'm sorry,' she said, hair hiding the grin on her face but not able to hide the glee in her voice.

Returning to her place beside her commander she sensed a change in Shang. Brooding: quiet and cantankerous. Was there nothing she could do right? She couldn't bow to him in obeisance unless they were protected within the walls of the others quarters. As he himself had said, she was not his wife nor his daughter, it was not her place to make intimate gestures openly towards him; there were rumours and whispers enough as it was.

Qifu glared at her, though there was a slight wariness in the gaze. It was only a fraction of a twist in his lip, but she had caught it: a suppressed smile. Qifu had a weakness for docile women. It was a quiet war he thought he was winning. Mulan would allow him the entertainment of that thought, it was amusing watching the peacock strut, preening as though it had won a battle. The tiger licking its wounds next to her was a different story altogether. She needed to do something more than kowtow to appease his agitation.

...

Shang didn't understand why she had followed him from the meeting hall, trailing behind him, tugging on the cuffs of her uniform. She made him sit at his table, coyly glancing at him, darting away and clattering about in his rooms. Then she reappeared and it made sense.

She was a picture of concentration. Movements fastidious and careful, lips pursed in determination, fingers gently sprinkling the leaves. Then she bit her lip, eyes leering at the kettle, daring it to disobey her. Her sleeve skidded down her arm, a stray finger not her own halted it, pressed lightly at her wrist; a little laughter emitting from its owner.

'You don't concentrate this hard on the front.'

Mulan lifted the cup and bowed her head slightly, proffering it to Shang. He accepted it with a slight nod of his own, fingers brushing against hers as he wrapped a hand around it. They were alone, lenience could be afforded.

'Xie xie,' he smiled over the cup, savouring the taste. It wasn't the grandest or most complex tea he'd ever tasted; it was a little bit too robust, a little bit too warm. But it was Mulan's tea, the first time she'd made it for him. A ceremony especially performed for him, and admittedly never for anyone else.

'It's disgusting isn't it,' she sighed crestfallen, on the verge of tears.

'It's a little strong,' he laughed, sipping it anyway, 'definitely too hot,' another sip. He licked his lips, looking at her, reaching for her hand. The fragrance was reminiscent of her natural perfume. He'd bathe in that tea, if he could.

The tears fell. Exhaustion subjugated her; broken emotions; a fractured soul. A week ago she was fighting for her life, for her men, for China. A few days ago she knew what it was to be a captain. She'd had no sleep since that argument with Shang. It was so simple, a pot of tea for him! More intimate than obeisance, something for her tiger to garner her partiality.

'I prefer strong tea,' he smiled, stroking her hand. 'Mulan…it's perfect.'

The gesture was enough to flood the gates. The months of separation from her family; the years of killing – the battles – the mind games…the slow fracturing of her spirit. The touches she craved; the kisses that confused her; the yearning she didn't understand. Shang.

Her face crashed into the top of his table, her arms too weary to hide the tears, sobbing hysterically into the lacquer, body shaking and soul forlorn. Shang squeezed her hand, still sipping his tea.

'At least you don't have to worry about it going cold,' he joked, nodding towards the steam still floating from the cup. She wailed and banged her head on the table. She was never going to try and be devout for him again!

* * *

_The cheese has been posted over on the blog, in case this wasn't enough of a fix for you. It will have to do you for a while. I hope the little nibbles are enough for you (sketch courtesy of the lovely CC). Once again, details are on the profile page FF will eat the address if I type it in here...damn encryption!_


	17. XVII: Against the Wolves

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami**

**XVII (Vengeance): Against the Wolves**

* * *

My apologies, illnesses and such.

* * *

Blood dripped from the swords drawn at his sides. His breaths fell heavily and in shaky gasps. The cape billowing behind him stilled in the breeze, steadfast as his eyes beheld the horizon. Rage had filled him instantly: burnt him, rushed him. He hadn't heard nor heeded the warnings about him. He had seen nothing but the furs and wolves before him.

His Father's face flashed before him, the cheery, chubby man; laughing and smiling. A memory of a sword too large for his hands held firmly in his grasp, a broader, taller man directing him. Unsure steps and an uncertain smile but praised regardless. Tears prickled his eyes and he charged forward; a fierceness and wildness inconceivable to his men.

He didn't hear them calling him back. He didn't see her galloping after him. He didn't see anything other than the furs: the yellow eyes and the furs.

Her voice was shaky when it reached his ears, the hand on his shoulder quivering lightly. His breathing was still laboured.

'Are you okay? Shang?'

He wasn't certain if she had been beside him the entire night. Her presence was part of his own and he never felt it anymore. Mulan was always there for him. Something of that bond they shared. Something of that stirring he didn't understand.

'There's an arrow in my shoulder,' he said mechanically, pointing to the shards he'd snapped off. 'Is there another in my leg?'

Her eyes flitted over him in the shadows, her head shaking to reaffirm him.

Blood smatterings marked Mulan's uniform; rips, tears and lacerations opened the fabric and her skin. She shook as though with fever as she eyed her commanding officer. His face paled slightly as he seemed to return from his trance, his dark eyes listlessly roving across her.

'They're only superficial wounds.'

'You're shaking, are you cold?'

'No..._stunned_ that we survived.'

Surveying the ruin around them did not take long. Fury had engulfed Shang; those that harmed his father would pay. Their bodies lay in pieces about them. She dropped her sword and he dropped his, tugging her forward, he kissed her roughly.

'Your horse is dead,' she rasped, coughing and wiping her mouth with her sleeve, spitting away blood and sweat.

'Yours can carry us both,' Shang yelled in response, kicking bodies to check if they grunted or breathed; slitting their throats to be sure. The softness of his companion had returned a little as she turned from the spectacle, treading across the snow lightly, removing herself from the final dispatch. It was not an opportune moment for him to notice her as a woman, but he did in those moments: a lock of hair out of place; a breast partially exposed. Hidden curves sneaking through tears in her uniform, there was definitely a woman under the silk and leather. He kissed her again when he was finished, a silent order for them to ready themselves for return. The sort of kiss she wished would last longer. The sun was rising in the distance, the warm glow illuminating the frozen blood surrounding them. A scent they would not soon forget; a scene they would long remember.

'This was a renegade mission,' Mulan whispered as Shang mounted Khan, swinging himself up around her. She fell into his hollow, collapsing against him as the consequences of their combined efforts cascaded upon her.

'No, Xi Meng isn't officially the Marshal. He's predisposed himself to the position because of his relationship with the Emperor. I share a rank with him, and you're my Captain, under my command: you follow my orders.'

'You didn't order me to follow you.'

'No, a good General should be as one with his men though. You should not have been the only one to follow me.' He'd looked into his arms and ducked to kiss her quickly. Mulan tugged on his chin and pressed him to continue the sweet moment, grinning against his mouth.

'I still think Qifu is going to demand blood.'

'He can have mine!' Shang ground out, tightening his grip on Mulan. The pair of them led Khan back to the camp in silence; their swords a heavy burden and solace of each other's presence enough for comfort to quiet their discontent.


	18. XVIII i: All of Myself

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami**

**XVIII (Love), i (Sacrifice): All of Myself (Li Meixiang)**

* * *

I have divided the theme of 'Love' into seperate character pieces. Each character will have their own theme extracted from the theme, e.g. Sacrifice, Devotion, Unconditional Love, Desire, Friendship etc. All the things that make love what it is to us in our understandings. Enjoy.

And once again, thanks for reading.

* * *

A smile threatened her lips in the candlelit stillness. The breeze jingled her headpiece, the jade beads whistling faintly as they brushed together. Clasping a hand over her mouth Meixiang bit off the giggle that rustled inside her chest. The hours of teasing were yet to come, and she was waiting patiently in the bridal chamber. Again the beads clinked in the breeze, reminding her neck of the pains of her suffering. A demure bride would not laugh as she waited: a true bride would carefully study the pillow book her new mother had handed her. An honourable bride would not find the descriptions amusing.

An honourable sister would certainly not picture her eldest brother and his love entwined in the depictions. But her brother was not here – could not be here – and he was truly the only family Meixiang wanted nearby on this day. Shang should have been there to tease and implore her, with Mulan at his side, married or not, Meixiang wouldn't have cared – they should have been there.

She had overheard them speaking of marriage on one of Mulan's many visits to their home. The pair of them sprawled out under the stars on the tranquillity pavilion: close enough to touch; far enough apart to deny any kind of implication; intoxicated enough to break down their beliefs. Shang was speaking as though he ought to marry; Mulan expressed that it was expected of her. There were whispers. Shang propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over her, his fingers entangling in her hair. There was sadness in his voice. Mother did not approve of Captain Fa as a woman let alone a potential daughter. Mulan seemed to know too well her chances with the matchmaker and what fruit they would yield. They had quarrelled. Elopement was not an ideal prospect for either of them.

Her brother's relationship with his most trusted soldier was peculiar. Meixiang was certain he loved her, as men love Goddesses that visit them in dreams. And she was sure that Fa Mulan reciprocated that love, the way she hung off his words, traipsing around after him. That night on the pavilion her spying only lasted so long. She had witnessed heated kisses and caresses too intimate for friends; his hands seemed to know hers as hers did him. Whatever they had decided marriage seemed a moot point for them. Shang loved her and Mulan returned that affection. She kissed him like the first story taught her. Mulan had caressed Shang's face so gently, rolling him beneath her in the movement. They had been drunk and giddy. The movement sent the wine jug rolling and they did nothing but laugh, pausing only to catch their breaths and return their lips to each other.

Shang should have been here, and her sister, Mulan. Teasing her and telling her how to please her man. Mulan should have been Mistress Li, head of the estate. She would have made a beloved sister, who would share her knowledge and experiences of her marriage bed with her. She should have been there. Mulan and Shang should have been married first. China's Greatest General and China's Heroine, a phoenix and a dragon reaching their zenith together.

Shang had been so angry after seeing the matchmaker last. '_Ill fated_,' he yelled. Meixiang had never seen him so hysterical, so angry. 'I'd give my life for her, and my love is ill fated?!' He'd smashed things in the house, tossing scrolls and paintings, books and furniture. Their mothers had been pleased that the threat of Fa Mulan becoming Mistress Li seemingly vanquished. Shang needed to marry a docile petite thing that was willowy and delicate: a traditional bride; a fragile girl that could be broken and controlled. He told them that if they found him such a bride he would ensure that Mulan was the mother of his children. He didn't have to bed anyone he didn't want to. It was nothing to do with pride or honour or duty. The only woman he was indebted to in such nature was Fa Mulan. If he ever had prodigy, she would bear them.

Mulan did not visit as often afterwards. She had not witnessed Shang's outburst but she'd heard of it, the rumours spoken of by maids and such costing her reputation. She refrained from touching him, and if there were intimacies, they were no longer witnessed by any spies. He sank back into his pensive shell and she was awkward with him, extending herself in a masculine way, dismissing her femininity and anything it might lead to.

Mulan had confessed to her in tears that she didn't understand why Shang didn't want to marry her. Meixiang didn't have the heart to tell her the union had been nullified by the matchmaker. Or that her family hated her: her and Shang's mothers were afraid of her, if she were to become Mistress of the household she would outrank them. Shang would want her in charge of his household.

In the awkwardness of a broken friendship they reverted to General and Captain; Leader and subordinate. No more caresses in the moonlight, although they often seemed in flux about their status: neither married nor unmarried; neither friends nor lovers but somewhere between the two.

Still, Shang should have been here, today, tonight, cajoling her with his wife at his side.

The beads jingled and the pompoms rustled in the wind, her gaze turned towards the door, her mother was teetering on the threshold, wringing her hands together nervously. She scuffed across the floor to her, kissing her on the cheek and holding her by the arms. Li Hong was such a small woman. Tiny really. Traditional. She had been crying.

'Your father should have been here', she whispered, barely louder than the autumn breeze. 'Shang should have been here', the squeeze on Meixiang's arms tightened. 'Shang should have been here with his wife.' Her eyes dropped to meet Meixiang's and more tears spilled over. 'Yes, _with her_. I might not agree with her, but he adores her and she is sworn to you as sister isn't she, secret pacts and such?' Another kiss and she left: a mother's farewell. She was no longer her Father's or her brother's responsibility, she now had a husband. She would likely never see her mother again. She had no remembrances of her mother kissing her outside of that moment.

Grief consumed Meixiang; the loss of things never known until passed. Too many lives had vanished before her own; her mother didn't know how to love a daughter, it was foreign and unfamiliar and far from acceptable. In truth she didn't care to. Duty and honour were more important. Sons were more important. Meixiang wanted love. She wanted what her father had shared with the world. She wanted what Jinjing had been raised with. She wanted what her brother knew, entwined with another and in want if nothing else.

Tonight she would ask for love and offer her heart as its price.


	19. XVIII ii: Moments of Stillness

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami**

**XVIII (Love), ii (Ai*): Moments of Stillness (Li Shang)**

* * *

*Ai is one of the many Chinese terms for love. It represents a selfless, caring, devoted love; a base element for Aiqing, romantic love.

This is being read in over forty countries, and has more views than I ever expected to reach. Thank you for your loyalty.

* * *

Blood pounded in his ears as he recited basic form with agitated perfection. His feet skidded a little on the gravelly bank, swaying him in the moonlight. His head ached from the gathering earlier that evening. Qifu wanted to move forward again, pushing the troops closer to the capital and further from suspicion and unrest. The others wanted to go home. It had been years since they'd seen their loved ones; everyone wanted respite, everyone except a certain captain of his.

'I'll stay at the outpost,' is what she said. Her only request a small company and a few horses.

Shang swung his fists forward in quick succession before bounding into a new position and fiercely kicking the empty space before him. Had someone been before him they would have received a fatal blow.

The lake was exceptionally still that night. The moon was half hidden by the canopy about him. His feet had carried him there by route; the softly pulsing waves should have calmed him, instead her face seemed to float in the mists across the water, swirling about him. Duty and honour were important to her. But she wasn't remaining out of loyalty; the matchmakers were awaiting her return. When she was China's heroine she was sought after, choosing to be a professional soldier slaughtered what hope she had of making a suitable match. She would be married to an older man, and never be anything more than a third or fourth wife; nothing more than a concubine, and not his.

His breathing quickened as he looked out across the water's surface. The mists had stilled, her face had faded away, but her perfume lingered, drawing him in again. Wiping his brow he shifted, feeling the sharp granules pressing into his uncovered feet. He was about to toss a wide kick when a sharp whack collected the back of his knees, felling him instantly.

'You weren't in your tent,' she growled, her voice unusually low.

'I'm not always in my tent!' Shang bit out, blocking the jabs Mulan attempted to land. He wasn't in the mood or mindset to parry with her tonight. If they fought he'd harm her.

'I thought you spoke well to Qifu, though the offer remains should you ever need it.'

'What offer?' He stumbled back a little, icy water brushing against his ankles. She'd swept another kick into his knees, a smirk baring her teeth.

'I hold; you punch!' Mulan grinned with that guileless smile of hers, kicking and punching the hands of her commanding officer. 'You can talk to me like I'm one of them Shang! You don't need to be guarded with me, honour and tradition aside; I'm your friend first.'

He ducked around her and Mulan found herself with wet shoes and damp socks. A cough that was nearly a laugh escaped his lips, his aura lightening.

'Not always. Propriety still stands, as much of a _dear friend_ you are.'

'You just pushed me into the river! A gentleman would do no such thing to a _dear friend_!'

'Ah, yes. But you see I seem to be lacking my courtly attire, thus making me a mere soldier. If you'd prefer a gentleman…_Yao_ is on watch duty.'

A smirk lit her face as she ran at him, ducking under his arm and knocking him to the ground. Shang felt the heat of her closeness as she hovered over him, her slender fingers drawing hair away from his ear. 'I'd prefer you, Shang. Stay with me at the outpost. One General should stay behind. Word will travel if all three leave.'

He rolled underneath her, her thighs tightened and she moved with him. Her dark eyes caught his as his thumb traced the contours of her face, padding across the surface of her tanned skin. Those eyes always calmed him.

'Would it be beneficial for someone to stay? The threat of a general wandering the hills would be enough to keep most threats at bay; or is it more that you are a mere woman and you long for a man's protection?' His smile nearly met his eyes. The transition of power and presence of the soldiers wouldn't change until the end of the season. He could pray to change her disposition by then, entertaining her stubbornness in the meantime.

'This sand is rough.'

Shang chuckled at that, brushing his thumbs across her smile.

'We should be heading back.'

His voice cracked a little when he looked towards the camp. Bamboo and pines hid them, shadowing them on the banks of the river. Maybe a short tryst could be bought here. The moon was high and the night was quiet.

'Stay?' Mulan whispered, one hand threading into his locks and the other sliding over the muscles of his back. Whether she spoke of the moment or an indefinite period neither knew. Still, Shang's lips brushed against hers as he nodded his head, a swift moment of tenderness quelling their animosity. Instincts distracted them by swelling with the sounds of the night, ever wary of creaks and crunches of feet on unmarked paths, and their ragged breathing stilled by circumspection, lips whispering against each other in farewell. But as they walked back to their encampment Shang's hand wrapped itself around Mulan's, and until he reached her tent, and bid her goodnight, he did not let go.


	20. XVIII iii: Breaking Tradition

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami**

**XVIII (Love), iii (Unconditional Love): Breaking Tradition (Fong Huan)**

* * *

This just couldn't be supressed. I tried.

On another note, no one seemed to comment about the poor syntax herein. What shame! It has since been corrected.

* * *

'Are you feeling a little better?' Mulan had asked, squeezing his shoulder lightly. The older man smiled at her. She had known what day it was, ingrained in her mind and in her heart as it was: the anniversary of General Li's passing.

Shang had been elusive as he always was on this day. No one ever knew where the young man went to pay his respects, just that he went on his horse, and that whatever he did, it needed to be done alone. Huan had seen Mulan hand Shang some incense sticks that morning, a green ribbon tied around the small bundle. Subtle, polite, a few words were exchanged; smiles and a little laughter. They would both be lonely that day, in that way lovers are when they are parted. That is how Huan found her, brushing Khan's mane. How quickly those tides had turned when loneliness had crashed on him. A quiet day; an auspicious day; a lonely day.

He missed his wife and his girls; he missed his grandson. He'd told Mulan about his daughter Yunyun, knowing neither judgement nor condescension. 'Initially betrothed to Shang,' he'd grinned, intending to spark a rise out of his companion. But his Yunyun had other ideas and knew a boy too well. The alliance between Fong and Li had disintegrated before it ever existed. The boy that ruined Yunyun was killed before they were wedded, thus his youngest was a widow before she was even a bride and a mother before she was recognised as a woman.

Mulan had not been shocked at the news, but then the Jade Phoenix was not a common woman with common womanly understandings. She had reached over and grabbed his wrinkled hand, squeezing it lightly and patting it gently. Reassuring him that his Yunyun sounded like a lovely young woman; expressing that maybe she had done what she considered right by her heart. At least with her son she has a remembrance of her lover. She had flustered a little when he cocked an eyebrow at her. Maybe she wasn't Mistress Li by law, but her red cheeks spoke volumes of her heart and commitments in that moment. If Shang's death was ever pending on the horizon she too would be endowed with such a keepsake.


	21. XVIII iv: A Daughter's Duty

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami**

**XVIII (Love), iv (Ren*): A Daughter's Duty (Fa Mulan)**

* * *

*Ren, commonly understood as filial love.

* * *

Mulan stumbled into his tent, pale as a ghost, dropping to the ground and breathing heavily. Her hands were shaking as they held a small scroll and a bottle of rice wine. She lifted the ceramic bottle to her lips and gulped down the fluid, ignorant of the warm liquid dribbling down her chin.

'My...my parents,' she rasped, choking on the words, swigging from her beverage.

'Are they alright?' Shang asked, gently kneeling before her and tugging her towards him. She shook her head, pressing her palm to his chest and pushing him away.

'Oh...my...heavens it's wrong!'

Careful enough to approach with caution, the general extracted the scroll tightly clasped in her hands, unfurling it and reading over it. He couldn't help that laughter that rumbled out of his chest as he looked up at the drunken captain.

'I assure you it's a natural result of a marriage bed.'

'BUT AT THEIR AGE!' Mulan yelled, grabbing the scroll, and swinging to her feet, glancing at the jug before draining it, swiftly eyeing off the wineskin discarded on Shang's bedroll. 'They're old, Shang, and if they die what then? I have to go home and raise my baby brother. What sort of a fate is that? I will have to sacrifice everything for them, for him! I will have to obey a boy twenty four years my junior! I'll have to play mother and servant, be degraded by him because his stupid sister stole her Father's armour and marched off to war instead of getting married and having her own children. Fa Mulan: treacherous sister of Fa Wang!' She calmed herself and observed him, kneeling placidly at her feet. A blush threatened her cheeks. Shang had been preparing for bed when she'd marched in, his hair was free of its red ribbon, soft and long hanging loosely over his bare shoulders. His smile was tired and gentle: a consideration he'd not heed for any other soldier.

'I understand your concern Mulan: I am the head of a household in Chang'an, in charge of four mothers, two brothers and eleven sisters. In the next few years I have to oversee thirteen suitable marriages; decide whether or not to encourage my younger brother to pursue the court instead of the military; allow my mothers' to remarry if they choose to. Any unhappiness on their part due to any of those decisions is my responsibility. It is no small blessing to me that Meixiang is happily married. Unfortunately the mantle you wear is closer to a man's than a woman's. I understand your concerns Mulan. But there is happiness in this, for both you and your family.'

'Happiness? It's insanity! My mother is forty three!'

'Is your mother well after the birth? Is your father ill? Is not your brother healthy? None of that is spoken of! Your family is well, and you are bringing them the greatest honour now! You aren't just protecting China anymore. You're protecting Wang, ensuring his future. Your sacrifices have been made by taking this life instead of marrying, bearing swords instead of sons! What you are doing here is guaranteeing China for them.'

She swallowed heavily, collapsing onto her knees. 'I feel torn between my duty as a daughter and a soldier. It's no longer honourable to remain here, not when my mother needs me. But I can't go...I'll be labelled a deserted and Qifu will not rest until he's personally executed me.'

'Your mother does not write that she needs you. She only says that all is well, and that she hopes you are in high spirits, and Qifu does not want to behead you as much as you seem to think he does. Ultimately, it is me he despises, as far as you're concerned, you are merely an extension of that hatred he holds in special regard towards me. You reveal my weakness, ultimately certifying that I am not in a desirous position for the title I hold.'

Her eyes were filled with tears, steadily trickling down her cheeks. Mulan swiped at her face with the backs of her sleeves. She mumbled something under her breath, sobbing and convulsing. Shang shuffled forward and pulled her against him, stroking her hair out of her face and cradling her in his arms.

'I realized no one needs me,' she whispered. 'I'm not...married, or useful. Mostly I just hinder you. What happens when there's peace? Do I kill myself for honour without any higher purpose?'

'You go to the Emperor as his Prime Minister. He has already promised you as much.'

'The Mandarins won't listen to me! What man would?! I'm just a hysterical woman.'

'If the Emperor tells them to listen to you they have no choice, hysterical or sane.'

Mulan was shaking her head, her chest still convulsing against him. Her tears felt warm against his skin.

'You could go to your family then, as an honoured daughter. Help your brother become a Mandarin and make a difference; perhaps use your position to marry him into the court. You were offered a Prince; he could be offered a princess because of you.

'There is also the academy. They'd be honoured to take you as a training officer, which is if you were reluctant to let go of your armour.'

The sobbing heaved, her arms tightening around his neck. She was in his lap, crying, holding on to him for dear life. Shang swallowed heavily, combing her hair out of her eyes and kissing the side of her mouth. Her cheeks were damp and warm, flushed from tears and exhaustion.

'There is another option, that you could accept the proposal to be my bride and marry me.'

Shang felt her arms tighten around him, her breath hitching and softening against his neck.

'Mulan, if anything happens to your parents I will marry you, by proxy, immediately. We can send your brother to the Li villa; or send servants and nursemaids to him, if you'd rather they be raised with the Fa ancestors. You don't need to trouble yourself with grief that has not yet occurred. Our situation is fragile enough without unnecessary emotional distress.'

She nodded her head and settled a little more, curling into him and kissing his chest. Shang wasn't sure how long they were sitting together, on the dirt holding each other. Mulan's empty bottle of wine was hanging from her fingers. Thought his pride wouldn't allow his such a confession, nursing her made him feel useful to her; cradling her made him feel wanted and reassured him that those wants were reciprocated.

'You're very useful to me, Mulan, you and your cavalry. I'd hate to know how many times I've relied on you not just for my own life, but those of my men. If you need to go to your family I understand though. I think the Emperor would pardon you in regards to your circumstances...and I'd still come for you, when there was peace, whether you were Prime Minister, Jian Master or simply Fa Zhou's daughter.'

The arms around him loosened a little and a pair of wet lips brushed against his ear and his cheek, dancing their way to his lips. Her kisses were sweeter than usual, tears still dampened her cheeks; nothing rushed or overwhelmed with passion. She tasted of sour wine and rice. Her fingers drew lazy circles on his back as the convulsions slowed, her nails dropping to trace the muscles of his body. She nudged her nose against his and pulled away a little, resting her forehead against his and drawing her hands up to his shoulders.

'It's still disgusting, clouds and rain at their age!'

'Desire overwhelms ones senses sometimes,' he chuckled.

'It's never overwhelmed yours!'

Shang smiled at her a moment, 'I am waiting, that is all.'

'Waiting for what? Some docile, willowy thing without a thought in her empty head and a lily-gate fitted with putrid silk?'

'Marriage, preferentially; If I was to be overwhelmed as desire dictates me, you would already be round with my child, Fa Mulan!'

* * *

_In the Ballad of Mulan, Mulan has a little brother and an older sister. No, this isn't Disney Canon, as a dog represents this character. For those of you who have noticed, I've mashed together most of the Mulan folklore I am familiar with. This is not an exception._

_Second last sentence was written in especially for Flitterbugzz. Just a hint of what there is to come._


	22. XVIII v: Too Late for Regret

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami**

**XVIII (Love), v (Veneration): Too Late for Regret (Li Chen)**

* * *

Xie xie.

* * *

He lay in the snow in a state of deliriousness. Cold, tired; his chest was heavy and his side ached. The pain had passed, he'd gone beyond that. His mind danced across the snow, drifting back to Wu Zhong, back to his tent and his son; back to Chang'an. Back to his wives and his children; back to the son that was wiser and nobler than he ever was.

Shang was proud, but he was good and pure. Innocent in many ways that he never was; filial to a depth he himself never did achieve. He was strong and smart, balanced with his own panache of dry humour. He'd honour him as he should, as would be expected. He wouldn't derive any sympathy or apathy from it; he'd take it on the chin and do what he was supposed to do. He'd be the man Li Chen could only dream of being. The man his father had grown to admire.

It was that admiration that had won Shang his promotion. Not family lineage or necessity, but the pride his father felt in seeing him achieve all he had by the age he was, whilst still holding strong to his morals and beliefs. He would be an officer that never compromised himself or his men. Li Shang, he was a fine young man, and Li Chen would miss seeing what that young man would develop into as the years passed him.

The snow fell, the ice settling about him, but he couldn't feel the cold any longer. The pain steadily subsided and he felt lightheaded and out of breath. The blackness was upon him before he'd realised it, and his thoughts, his last thoughts as he bled into the snow were that of his son, and the man he knew he'd become. The man he had helped shape and mould. The boy he taught to hold a sword and ride a horse. His son.


	23. XVIII vi: Stars

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami**

**XVIII (Love), vi (Longing): Stars (Fa Mulan, Li Shang)**

* * *

I told you if I posted it, I'd bury where it couldn't be found and change it so I didn't break the rules.

However if we're dancing in irrelevance, I'm sure one of you just died from an almost consistent update. I know I almost did and I wrote the damn thing.

Canadarulz, this ones for you. FlitterBugzz, I'm working on it. Bao Li Na, yours is yet to come. Lita of the Dancing Flames, you are lovely. And the rest of you random little buggers that are too damn lazy to sign in, well, I love you too, and thanks for reading. No really, I do love you and I am sincerely thankful for your reading these little ficlets.

* * *

'I want to teach you something,' she'd grinned as she pulled him further and further from the encampment. General Li's mind reeled as he began to panic; his face fell, his usual knowing smirk replaced with twitching lips. He pulled at the cuff she'd ensnared, trying to escape from her hold but it was all to no avail. His back hit the ground with a thud, his throat tightened; he couldn't breathe. Mulan's shoulders brushed against his then one slender arm snaked up and pointed towards the brightly shining orb in the sky.

'The moon is perfect tonight. Last night it was too cloudy.' Her arm pointed to the south of the waxing orb and moved in a disjointed formation, pausing and counting.

'Sagittarius,' her voice whispered through her broken breath.

Shang's breathing quickened again. Mulan leant up and half rolled across him pointing and smiling at the constellations. Her hair brushed against his chin. He wanted to reach out to it, run his fingers through it.

'Pegasus, Crater, Corvus…_Shang_?'

His eyes landed on her lips. 'Corvus,' he repeated without any understanding in his voice; his eyes lingering on her own.

'Sun-tzu says you should only attack by fire in those four constellations: they're the stars of rising wind!'

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear then looked up. After a moment he pointed to where her finger had started, 'Sagittarius'. Mulan nodded and leant closer, moving his arm, her fingers resting over his, her body still hovering above him. His other hand found her hip, sneaking under the tunic and grazing at her skin.

'Pegasus…Do you come out here every evening to read the stars?'

She hummed and nestled into him, sprawled out together on the damp ground under the velvet sky; alone, together. Her head resting on his shoulder, her leg curled over his, her lips by his ear. She walked him through the four constellations again and again. For a brief moment he wondered if being married to her would be like this, if she was his wife could they spend their evenings like this, curled into each other witnessed solely by the stars? The smell of black powder and blood soon quashed that dream. They might only have today, tonight. He might never marry. She might never be a bride.

Her voice was drifting into silence as she rested on her elbows above him; her eyes weren't on the stars anymore. A finger danced around the outline of his face, pausing over pressure points, massaging and tapping them lightly. Shang could spend eternity like this. His veiled hand slipped further upwards, thick silk tickled his knuckles and the trepidation faltered him; this was forbidden, she wasn't his. If he continued there was a line – though already blurred and confused – that would be crossed. Then there was his heart. He wouldn't want this to only happen once. He'd pulled away every time before, even if it was in that last moment, even if it was already a caress too intimate. Maybe it was her perfume, or his confusion, or her forthrightness, or his deliriousness. Maybe it was the wine and the spring air, or the ballads spun on evening skies dancing delicately in the back of his mind and the back of his tongue. Maybe it was just her, and everything that she embodied.

'What are you thinking about', her tone was teasing, she wasn't aware of the hand on her. 'Shang, you're blushing.' Giggles overwhelmed her, her chest rumbling against his. The movement stopped as his fingers brushed against her. Her eyes opened to him, her breath quivering on her lips. His unseen hand covered her intimately; knowing her terrain and mapping the expanse to memory. Her finger drew a languid line down his cheek, her thumb brushing his lips. Her eyes held his, her breathing becoming more even.

Was it forbidden, or was his touch desired, craved and needed. She had always been his.

'Kiss me,' he whispered, shocked at the sound of his own voice. Desperate and shaking as he rolled her, his legs entangling with hers, hovering over her, repeating it like an order. Eyes begging her, pleading her; his hands on her, 'Kiss me!'

She didn't obey, too much stilled by the suddenness of their intimacies. Shang leant forward, his forehead pressed against hers. 'I'm going to kiss you now,' he whispered, lips brushing against her mouth.

'Wat'cha think you're doin?' Yao grinned, shaking his head in a joyfully devious manner as he lurched over the pair on the ground.

Shang froze. His nose was barely a hair from Mulan's. His hand was still wandering around under her tunic. Mulan had bitten her lip so hard there was blood trickling down her chin. Her cheeks were red and she looked as though she was about to laugh.

'Sun-tzu. Stars. Rising wind.' Their commanding officer's face literally lost all colour, paling to trembling porcelain. His voice cracked and he started to shiver. For a brief moment Shang though that this is what death would feel like.

Ling leered over Yao's shoulder, never too far from the shorter soldier's shadow. He eyeballed the pair awkwardly entangled in a slightly more than compromising position. The illustrious and infallible General Li atop Captain Fa; an arm strangely displaced between the two of them, shielding itself inside Captain Fa's tunic. There was a knowing smile plastered on Ling's face that very nearly reached his eyes and a hint of a blush that stretched across his nose. His comrade too had noticed something else slightly amiss, something on, or rather of, the General's person.

'Sumtins rising but it aint no wind.' Smug suited the chubby lieutenant at that moment; it may even suit him for the next day or two. Heavens know, he'd stumbled on his best piece of leverage yet.

Shifting uncomfortably but not really moving, Shang steadied himself, repeating the names of the four constellations again and again until the two men sauntered off in search of further amusement. Something brushed the tunic from his shoulders and his eyes returned to the woman beneath him, the one he was still shamelessly taking advantage of.

'I believe you were about to follow through on an order, General.'

Said General needed little more encouragement than that to continue his assessments of Corvus and Crater.


	24. XIX: Fate

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami & CC Lieng-Bui**

**XIX (Tears): Fate**

* * *

The first legion marched out at dawn. The sun burnt down on them. The mud slowed them. Death shadowed them through the night. Disease followed in their wake. Chang'an glimmered from the distance: close enough to abide by temptation, willing them still closer and closer homeward. The terrain was treacherous though, through the hills; slippery melting ice and snow enough to prey on their sanity. Night sounds tempted their fates while stars guided them. Most – but not all – made it home. For some, the Capital was the first night of a longer journey yet. For others it was the sanctuary they had prayed for, day-by-day, moon-by-moon. For a devout few there were still charges of duties to complete, orders that lingered beyond encampments and battlefields, whether by honour, duty or friendship to their leaders. Captain Liang was General Li's second; a friend as much as the cold, stiff General allowed, and a confident formed upon years of acquaintance and an established camaraderie. Liang's orders stood firmly before him, and stretched many days into his future beyond this sunset within the Imperial City and its foreboding stone walls.

Eventide was begetting her orange hues as he trotted the streets of the city, his ancestral home and the dwelling place he and his family were still faithfully cleaved to. His horse, a wilder darker horse than most imperial stallions, was weary and sweaty, and he was exhausted. Weariness had plagued them for months: the dryness that a lack of battle brings and the trauma of an over stimulated, immaculately trained mind. Liang steeled himself the way the General had taught him, sucking in air and spitting away the bad spirits of those that haunted and tormented him.

The paved thoroughfares and boulevards were much as he remembered, decorated with ornate gardens and high stone walls. Affluent and imperial connections still abided in their secluded compounds; expansive villas and orchards filled with every imaginable delight, brightly decorated doors that shielded and whispered of more. Li Shang's home was no exception, humble though it was considering the family's lineage. Liang had played there as a boy and knew the land, but the beauty of his commanding officer's home still astounded him with the renewed sighting. There was an intimidating presence marking the Li territory and an equally lavish stone path leading to the villa's Imperial red doors. Liang wished he was dressed clean robes or washed and draped in courtly attire; that his socks weren't stained from the journey west, and that the icy grit that clung to his face did not form too much of a likeness to their Northern neighbours.

He was careful when he extracted the silk bundle from amongst his saddlebags, bracing himself and breathing deeply as he strode down the path he knew, towards the house he knew, clanking the brass knocker as he remembered. A fearful maid opened the door, mincing into the shadows and refusing to make eye contact with the soldier as she simpered from the chasms darkness.

'Ma'am,' Liang bowed. His calloused hands proffered the item and he straightened slightly, though bent informally as not to frighten the young maid further. 'I am under explicit orders from General Li to deliver this to the youngest master Li, Li Jinjing.'

The maidservant flushed deeply, nodded, and scampered away down the corridor, tripping about her brocade as it thrashed the floor. Silence and candlelit filled the doorway, then silk whispered across the lacquered floors and an eloquent lady appeared some moments later, a small Shang marching after her. Liang may have described her as wise, but he feared that his friend's mother only wore her age as she adorned her grief and suffering.

'You have news of my son?' Her voice was stilted with formality, schooled, restrained; prepared for heartbreak or too well acquainted with it to faint from unknown woe. A little head poked around her silk folds, curious eyes darting about the officer in the doorway. The resemblance was too striking for coincidence: this was the child Shang had described. 'You will know him, Liang. If you remember me, you will know him.' The General had said. By all appearances the boy was the General's spirit locked into the limbs of an infant. Maybe the efforts of the eldest Li son could secure the path of this one, ensuring the ominous spectres that followed Shang never followed him.

'General Li Shang is unharmed Ma'am. He ordered the delivery of General Li Chen's sword to Li Jinjing.' Captain Liang bowed again, lifting the sword higher.

The boy bounded forward snatching the article, bowed, and darted away with the swiftness with which his elder brother moved.

'Are you returning presently?' the woman asked, scurrying away without presenting the officer a chance to provide a response. She returned with a flurry of emotion, thrusting a collection of papers at Liang. 'Please give these to my son, I worry for him.'

The young captain smiled, accepting the task despite what is meant. He parted with words of gratitude and sympathy towards the late General's wife, whispering guarantees of the accolades her son would no doubt receive. He did not return to the barracks that night for rest, not wishing to tarry, but instead exchanged his steed for another and slept atop the marching beast as he returned in the direction from which he came.

* * *

Shang was shirtless, chuckling in his selfish way as he blindfolded himself and fired three arrows simultaneously at a poorly made and long suffering straw dummy. The dummy itself seemed to share an uncanny likeness to a Lieutenant from within the General's own troop. Liang knew the men knew well enough not to question their leader's motives for his artistic licence in the target's design. If the chubby straw-man had been a living being his body would now be greatly compromised, with an arrow pierced betwixt his thighs, one in his belly and another through his brains.

'I see your aim has improved,' the Captain stated, resting his hands on his hips and studying the line of soldiers before him. There was an anomaly within the men, the daintiest of them somehow absent. 'That or you truly hate the man you have made an effigy of.'

Another series of arrows were dextrously fired into the straw-man as the shirtless General's face contorted into a painfully serious expression. 'Do you have news Liang, or are you simply here to gloat over my aggravation?'

'I would never consider such a thing!' The captain smirked. 'But I have some news from the City, if you wish to leave your men to their own devices. Captain Fa could lead them through formation training if necessary, that is, where I presume she is.'

Swiping his shirt deftly from the ground Shang named one of the more advanced recruits to continue the training. His scowl deepened in reference to Captain Fa despite his efforts. He appreciated that Liang knew him well enough to follow him towards his tent without question or quarrel, though he was no doubt intrigued by his coldness towards someone with whom he was rarely cold, and never so openly. Sighing slightly he ran his fingers through his hair and straightened the ribbon, abruptly reminiscent of the fact it was green, not red, and the memory of its origins thrust forth within his mind.

'I presume by news of the City you refer to personal news, not Imperial orders.'

'That is true enough. The Emperor is pleased with things as they are, your mother no doubt wishes differently.'

'No doubt all our mothers wish that.'

'For most it is our wives that wish that.'

'You have quite made your point.'

'Your mother is well. Rather swift for her age I'd say. She liked for me to pass these on to you.'

The General unfurled the scrolls and barked at his captain to leave him be. Silence fell over him in the stiff, cold way he wore it. Liang had never seen him so vulnerable or feral looking. No more than ten nervous strides from the man's tent than did the General poke his head through the folds. His voice was eerily quiet as he requested Liang's return, not for his confidence, but that he could find Mulan to relieve that burden from him.

* * *

She had been wound too tight to move. If she approached him she was pushed aside. If she said nothing and dared not move he glared at her for reassurance. Forced at the crossroads she did no more than shrug, nod and agree with her General's presently fleeting moods. Mulan didn't understand why this news sat so differently with him than that of his father's death. Something had fractured; something was unbalanced. She didn't know the answers, not with certainty, and he didn't need empathy. All she could do was offer to hold him when he needed it, or take her sword beside him when he called for it. She did not know where else she stood other than beside him.

* * *

The moon was high when Mulan was shaken awake by a sobbing man. The sight was almost too distressing for her sleep-drunk body to comprehend. Shang was sunken on his knees next to her, the silent tears flowing freely. The only visible sign of his distressed state his shaking shoulders, the same shoulders that had nurtured her when she was in a similar disposition and the tears that he had fought so valiantly had breached those bindings.

He was chanting her name, his fists pressed into his knees, his knuckles white from pressure. She shifted the rug, slowly righting herself and wrapping her arms about him. His head fell into the crook of her neck, his shafted breaths warm and wet against her skin and his tears spilling into her matted hair.

'You need sleep!' she muttered. The reprimand was maternal even to her ears. Mulan was too exhausted to contend with a broken man. 'You'll feel better in the morning,' she mumbled, tugging him onto the cot with her despite his stiffness. Her body curled about him and she sunk into their combined warmth. Shang calmed a little in her arms, kissing her hair and muttering her name at slower intervals, yet the supplication to heaven remained.

'My sister is dead.'

Softly nodding as she stroked his cheek Mulan held back her own tears and tired understanding. Shang had been so cold when he'd read her the letter earlier that evening: distant and miserable, shielding himself and striking a foreboding rampart about him. Further commentary was lost to her; his father and his sister were gone. He was brooding and mourning and at a loss to comprehend her death; she had been young and healthy and now she was gone. The spectres about him darkened.

'Meixiang's dead Mulan!'

She kissed the side of his mouth, hoping it would settle him a little. He pulled her closer, clinging to her as he convulsed against her skin. She whispered that he needed to sleep. He fumbled, struggling to settle, hot tears still slipping from his control.

'I need you!' he cried, crushing her in his arms, his head buried into her neck. His desire was forced upon her as it overwhelmed him. The need to feel something other than pain was too great to suppress. She wriggled out of his grip some and pushed him away. If his determination forced him down this path their friendship was ruined.

'Right now you're suffocating me! Shang, look at yourself! This isn't you. You're exhausted. You need sleep. You aren't going to do anyone any good in this state! Go to sleep.'

His sobbing desisted slightly, but she could still feel his tears on her cheeks and her shoulder. He whispered his sister's name solemnly, drawing her closer with each shaking breath. His mouth still seeking refuge in the woman he adored.

'She knew you loved her Shang. I only saw you together a few times, but even I mistook her for your wife when you introduced us.' He choked on a laugh. Gulping and stilling himself a little. His stranglehold loosened into an embrace, though still a marginally violent one.

'I remember…she told me to walk you through the gardens.' It was said with such deflated affection. He wanted to be passionate about that particular memory, but that saccharine moment was dispelled now with a darker shadow, his lust dying as he meditated on his sister's face.

'Sweetheart', Mulan whispered, tasting the word and rolling it across her tongue. 'Shang, you need sleep.' She kissed him soundly, twisted around in his arms and pulled herself against him. His body was still shaking, tears still weaving paths across her skin as they fell upon her. She tugged the fur over the top of them, pulling his arms around her. 'Wo ai ni, Shang. Wan an.'

* * *

Chein-Po woke her as he usually did, if she overslept. He smiled peacefully at the tanned face breathing softly into her hair and nodded as if in thanks for something.

'The General needed rest.' He stated in his soft, effervescent voice.

Mulan shifted to study Shang's face; his eyes snapped open the moment she moved, hands deftly searching for her pleadingly for a final embrace. His lips brushed against hers, a kiss too heartfelt to disguise from a heart too broken to pretend.

'Come to me tonight,' he whispered, pulling her to him and cradling her in his arms.

Mulan kissed him again, nodding into the embrace as he stood and their hands slipped away from each other. Both she and Chein-Po were silent as Shang straightened himself out, bowed to both her and the priest and took his leave. He was too dishevelled to retain his reputation. The early risers would see him with knotted hair loose about his shoulders and wrinkled robes. They would speculate and whisper. Truths would be harder to believe than deceit.

'You don't want to be a bride,' Chein-Po asked in his unassuming way.

Mulan threw herself onto the bedroll, laughing to herself and pressing her nose against the scents that lingered.

'I never wanted to be a bride!'

That day Shang was clipped twice for his behaviour by General Xi, the self-proclaimed Marshal, and once by Qifu, the self-proclaimed future Emperor. Mulan came good on her promise, and she held while Shang punched. The Peacock of a Chamberlain feared the pair too much to mention it to Xi or Fong, though it did slip into his Imperial report.

Three years later, when the issue was raised at council, the Emperor denied having ever seen such a report, and proudly boasted against such magnificent lies. It was with a barely disguised smirk he refuted the hypothetical behaviour of his great grandson and China's Heroine. They most certainly never would attack a Councilman without explicit orders to do so, the pure notion of suggesting such an abomination bordered on treason. In the midst of the debate His Eminence refrained from clarifying whether or not they had been ordered to perform such a duty. Though his Prime Minister was present, and she did have a rather suspicious grin on her face.


	25. XX: The Grasshopper and The Cicada

**Hundred Leaf Blossom**

**By Nasu Hasami**

**XX (My Inspiration): The Grasshopper and the Cicada**

* * *

Well I loaded this onto FF three days ago, and being particularly vague at the time,

(you can thank the wine glass of vodka for that),

I thought the spacing was a little strange.

It seems I had forgotten to double space the dang thing!

I couldn't be bothered fixing it at the time…_really_…I just couldn't.

* * *

Contains poetry! You have been warned. NB: All poetry taken from Shijing, or the Book of Songs. For further information, I suggest you do some research. (Various translations of Shijing are available online.)

* * *

Things had been seen and heard. In many ways the hearing was worse than the seeing. Here was this woman, in this camp, disguised as a man. Still a woman, and still with all the charms of her sex, but she was fierce, and most believed that fierceness permeated every arena of her life: the warrior, the woman and the lover.

He was a soldier. His father before him a soldier too; a familial trait etched into his very soul. Morals, principles and etiquette – that of a courtier and that of a man-of-war – designed his existence.

He was a hard man to corrupt or entice, bound in honour and tradition; impossible to sway. But liquor could loosen that, and time, and seeing dawn through the smoke of war for all the mornings of nigh a decade. And she had always been there, brave and steadfast. He couldn't name the day she had begun to sway him, though, he would never deny it.

He drank to cheat the wretchedness. He drank to cheat what had cheated his equilibrium. He drank to cheat himself.

Mulan was fascinating: brave, or stupid, and somehow both most of the time. She had the potential for great beauty but hid it, and she knew how to entice a man, and carefully threw her smiles and allures as precisely as she bared her sword.

To her, these whims and fancies were weapons; charms to deploy at will. Moments of weakness revealed the nature behind them, sometimes played in jest, others, earnest provocation. The nattering of his conscience told him to stray from her fancies: of all the things he was in want of, she beheld few of those traits.

Tears betrayed him.

Weakness betrayed him.

Strength betrayed him.

The men knew.

They captured him and plastered him with wine and meat. They fed him candied delicacies and sugared sweets.

She was championing her own campaign, back towards the Northern borders. She was marching back to their first post, for the first time, without him.

A void and a vacancy, she didn't stay: she fled.

Though, her fleeing was commanded by the Emperor. Still, to him, when she wasn't near, she was fleeing.

She was seasoned now, a veteran of experience. Her body wore the scars and marks to map her battles.

He blamed himself for some. _Drank_. In truth, he blamed himself for all.

More wine.

More wine.

MORE WINE!

Huan was shouting. He had a penchant for shouting when drunk. _And singing_. It was a matter of time before the singing began.

His father sang when he was drunk too. The pair a well-made set of merry drunks, with their singing, cajoling and cavorting with women. _Merry drunkards indeed!_

His honour, the Li honour, beseeched his morals not to drink. But the pull and the lull and the emptiness of being without her, if but to heed her welfare – or so he preached to himself – bore the liquid in promising light.

The men dispersed the cushions throughout the pavilion, and lay strew about them as though they were dead, heaving and pulsing as they emptied the spirits into their gullets. The older men, though considering themselves strongest campaigners of the liquor, fell victim to their elixir swifter than the younger men. Only the boys, blabbering on the pretence of manhood, fell sooner.

It was better there was no women.

But her spirit lingered, tied to the front like the green ribbon tied in his hair.

Men noticed him.

He noticed the longing.

The men noticed it too.

His head swam from the wine.

The shouting began, through drunken stupor and swaggering mirth. _Fetch Mulan_! They cried. Fetch her so she can dance as she had before, when the wine had loosened her.

'She's not here.' General Li bit out, tossing back the vessel and feeling the burn.

Eyes crossed him but they were swimming drunk.

Men begged for him to dance and Huan belched into song:

"_By the banks of that marsh, there are sweet flags and lotus_

_There is a handsome man, I am smitten, what should I do?_

_Asleep or awake I do nothing, my tears flow like rain._

_By the banks of that marsh, there are sweet flags and lotus_

_And just one handsome man, stately and tall._

_Asleep or awake I do nothing, in my heart I am grieved._

_By the banks of that marsh, there are sweet flags and lotus_

_There is a handsome man, very tall and grave._

_Asleep or awake I do nothing, tossing and burying my face in my pillow."_

The aging General was not to be outdone as they quiet Xi witnessed to him:

"_Sun in the east!_

_This lovely man_

_Is in my house,_

_Is in my home,_

_His foot is upon my doorstep._

_Moon in the east!_

_This lovely man_

_Is in my bower,_

_Is in my bower,_

_His foot is upon my threshold."_

They teased him and jeered him.

They asked him of what terrain his beloved beheld.

Was she heavy or intractable or enclosed?

He drank more.

They sang more.

"_If you tenderly love me,_

_Gird your loins and wade across the Chen;_

_But if you do not love me – _

_There are plenty of other men,_

_Of madcaps maddest, oh!_

_If you tenderly love me,_

_Gird your loins and wade across the Chen;_

_But if you do not love me – _

_There are plenty of other knights,_

_Of madcaps maddest, oh!"_

Shang's head swam with the words swiftly written in her hand. She had chanced to write him from her first posting north-bound. At first, he sought another meaning in her words; a point to decipher, a code to unravel.

But there was nought.

Just words.

Her words.

Her hand and a poem she knew by heart, a song that bided them well.

_Deep rolls the thunder _

_On the sun-side of the southern hills_

_Why is it, why must you always be away,_

_Never managing to get leave?_

_O my true lord,_

_Come back to me, come back._

_Deep rolls the thunder _

_On the sun-side of the southern hills_

_Why is it, why must you always be away,_

_Never managing to take rest?_

_O my true lord,_

_Come back to me, come back._

_Deep rolls the thunder _

_On the sun-side of the southern hills_

_Why is it, why must you always be away,_

_Never managing to be at home and rest?_

_O my true lord,_

_Come back to me, come back._

The men quieted and the drunken vapour stilted a little.

He saw her face, swimming before him like it often did. He pondered on her words, and wondered of position, both his and hers, and of their families and of nobility and promise and trust.

He wondered if he was her lord or if she was his.

He wondered if he was the traveller, or if it was her.

He wondered if the home she spoke of was shared between them, or if all she had meant, was that where he was – as to him: wherever she was – was home.


End file.
